Author: Momo Chan

A deep-seated fear of being framed has blessed me with an almost pathological need to document everything. When my elementary school teacher accused me of not turning in the class fees, I produced surveillance footage of me placing the cash on her desk, counting it out ten times under the camera’s watchful eye. She had to admit she’d lost it. Years later, when accounting tried to pin a late expense report on me, I produced chat logs from six apps and emails CC’d to eight managers. The accountant had to publicly admit her incompetence. And when that same company tried to fire me for “gross violations,” I presented over a thousand pieces of video and photo evidence, playing it frame-by-frame for thirty hours. My boss ended up tearfully writing me a check for two months’ severance. Then, my ultra-wealthy biological parents found me and offered me a position at Apex Industries. My direct supervisor? The fake heiress who had been living my life. To protect myself, every button on my clothes was a hidden camera, every pen a recorder. I screen-recorded every chat and even hacked into the company’s 188 surveillance cameras. My paranoia paid off when the fake heiress, Jocelyn, confronted me, her face covered in an angry red rash. “Vera,” she demanded, trembling, “I told you I was allergic to milk. Why would you put it in my coffee?” I knew right then that all my preparations were about to bear fruit. … I feigned a moment of confusion. “But you’re the one who asked for a latte, weren’t you?” The words had barely left my lips when my biological brother, Grayson, burst out of the CEO’s office. He cradled Jocelyn’s face, his expression a mask of anguish. Then, his eyes, burning with fury, locked onto me. “Jocelyn is deathly allergic to milk! Why would she ever ask for a latte? You were jealous, weren’t you? You wanted to kill her! Figures. Gutter-rat from the middle of nowhere.” Jocelyn quickly intervened, dabbing at her crocodile tears. “It’s okay, Grayson. Vera has every right to hate me. I’m the one who stole her life. If my dying would make her feel better, then I’m willing.” With a dramatic flourish, she grabbed the half-finished latte and brought it to her lips as if to down the rest. Grayson panicked, slapping the cup from her hand. He started shouting for a doctor, his corporate image shattering on the marble floor. He turned back to me, his gaze dripping with venom. “Even if something happened to Jocelyn, a piece of trash like you would never take her place as a Sterling! If you hadn’t come crawling back to us, she would still be my only sister. You’re the one who ruined her life! You’re shameless!” I almost burst out laughing. Ignoring Grayson, I stared directly at Jocelyn. “Are you sure you’re not trying to frame me?” Jocelyn’s face crumpled instantly into a theatrical display of tears. “Vera, are you suggesting I’d risk my own health just to frame you? If I’ve told a single lie, I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness right here, right now!” Without a word, I pulled out a pen recorder and pressed play. Jocelyn’s clear, sweet voice filled the silent office. 【Hey, Vera, if you’re not too busy, could you grab me a latte? One-third sugar, please.~】 The entire floor went dead quiet. Jocelyn’s eyes bulged as she stared at the recorder in my hand, clearly blindsided by my level of preparation. “You… you misheard me! I never said the word latte!” She tried to scramble for an excuse, but I just let the recording continue. 【Just to confirm, you want a coffee with whole milk?】 【Yes, that’s right. Thanks so much.】 This time, she had nothing to say. “Recordings are easy to fake,” Grayson snarled, still defending her. “A scheming bitch like you probably planned this from the start!” “I have video, too,” I said, pulling out my phone. I played the full, unedited clip for the entire office to see. Watching the color drain from Jocelyn’s face, then return in splotches of red and white, I allowed myself a triumphant smirk. “Well, Jocelyn? Get on your knees.” Jocelyn gasped for air a few times before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. Grayson dropped to the floor, cradling her and wailing, but not without throwing one last accusation at me. “Are you happy now? Look what you’ve done to her!” I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. What I had done? All I did was play back her own words! Just then, my dear biological parents rushed in. After hearing a wildly embellished version of events from a coworker, my father turned to me, his face a stern mask of disappointment. “Vera, I know you resent your sister, but you can’t force her to kneel before you!” I didn’t speak. I just pressed the play button on the recorder again. 【If I’ve told a single lie, I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness right here, right now!】 Hearing this, my parents’ expressions soured even further. “Even if Jocelyn made a mistake, she is still your sister,” my mother scolded. “You should learn to be more forgiving. We Sterlings don’t raise our daughters to be so petty!” “You never raised me at all,” I said flatly. The single sentence shut my father up completely. “Is there anything else? If not, I’m getting back to work.” Ignoring them, I walked back to my desk. This level of drama was child’s play compared to what I’d endured my whole life. They rushed Jocelyn to the hospital. That evening, I got a call from her. “Vera, I’m so sorry about today. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you.” I considered it for a moment, then agreed. When I got to the bar, I found Jocelyn with a group of seven or eight other people. “So this is Jocelyn’s long-lost sister? A real step down.” “Told you there’s a world of difference between city folk and country hicks. Who cares if she’s the real heiress? She has zero class.” “I don’t know, guys, she looks like she could be a good time. Wonder if she had to sell herself to make ends meet.” I ignored their snide remarks and scrolled through my phone. A sleazy-looking guy swaggered over and offered me a drink. I politely told him I was allergic to alcohol. His face flushed with anger. “What the hell? You think you’re too good to drink with me?” Jocelyn chimed in, a sickly sweet tone in her voice. “Come on, Vera. If you don’t drink, it means you’re still mad at me, doesn’t it?” “You’re right. I am still mad at you.” My bluntness stunned her into silence. I truly couldn’t fathom the audacity of this girl who had stolen my entire life. I turned on my phone’s video camera and addressed the whole table. “Just so everyone is aware, if your pressuring me to drink results in any adverse health effects, under state liability laws, every single one of you could be looking at an assault charge.” That shut them up. The desire to interact with me vanished from the room. Jocelyn shot me a venomous look before turning back to her posse and continuing to drink. A few hours later, she was completely wasted. As I was about to help her home, one of her friends stopped me. “The Sterling estate is way too far from here. It’s not safe for two girls to be out this late. Why don’t you just take her to the apartment she rents nearby?” She gave me an address. It seemed logical enough, so I took Jocelyn there. The thought of spending another minute in the same room with her was nauseating, so I dropped her off and called a car for myself. I never expected to be woken up the next morning by Grayson dragging me out of bed and slapping me hard across the face. “You’re a monster! How could you do that to Jocelyn!” I was still reeling from the blow, completely disoriented. Before I could even ask what was going on, he hauled me to the apartment I’d left Jocelyn in. The scene was chaos. Jocelyn was on the floor, her clothes ripped, her skin covered in horrifying marks. She was sobbing hysterically. My parents were there, comforting her. When they saw me, my mother marched over and slapped me without a word. “What did she ever do to you?” she screamed. “How could you hate her so much that you’d hire someone to ruin her?” “I just took her to the address her friend gave me,” I managed to say, holding out the recording I’d made at the bar. But Jocelyn was one step ahead. “I-I don’t even know that person!” she cried. “And this isn’t my apartment! Vera, if you hate me, you can hit me, you can scream at me, but you can’t do this! You can’t destroy my life like this!” Grayson looked ready to tear me apart. If our parents hadn’t been holding him back, he probably would have. “You bitch! You brought her here, left her all alone, and didn’t tell anyone? And you expect us to believe this wasn’t your plan all along?” “But I did tell you!” “When?” Grayson scoffed. In the stunned silence that followed, I pulled out my phone and showed them the email I’d sent to all three of them. It detailed Jocelyn’s drunken state, her current location, and a request for them to come pick her up. “I also sent a message to Mom and Dad’s phones, but I guess they were asleep. As for you,” I said, looking at Grayson, “you never accepted my contact request.” Grayson fumbled for his phone. There it was, at the top of his requests: a message from me. I had even added a note: 【Jocelyn’s drunk. Come get her when you have a chance.】 He was dumbfounded. It took him a long moment to find his voice. “So what if you told us? This was obviously part of your calculation! How else could she have been attacked in her own room so conveniently?” “You’ll have to ask your dear sister that,” I said with a shrug. Jocelyn’s head snapped up. “Vera, are you actually suggesting I would use my own body, my own honor, to frame you? I’m not that depraved!” “She’s right,” my mother added, her voice laced with disappointment. “I raised Jocelyn for over twenty years. I know her character. But you, Vera… you were raised by those crude people in the countryside. It’s no wonder you picked up some of their wicked ways.” They tag-teamed me, defending Jocelyn while tearing me down. I let out a bitter laugh. What was the point of a family like this? “Good thing I was worried about my sister’s safety,” I said coolly. “So I planted a small hidden camera on her nightstand before I left.” Jocelyn’s face went white.

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For five years, we tried. Twelve rounds of IVF. Finally, Nicholas and I had our child. The day he was born, Nicholas, always so composed, broke down in tears. He gripped my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Annette, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. You and our boy… you’re my everything now.” He held our son with a reverence I’d never seen, hesitating before daring to touch the baby’s soft cheek. “We’ll call him Max,” he whispered. “For a life filled to the absolute maximum with joy and peace.” That was before his first love’s daughter was diagnosed with kidney failure. “Lily is a prodigy,” he’d said, his voice strained. “She’s destined to be a world-class painter. We can’t let her health stand in her way.” Then he was on his knees in front of me, stripped of all his pride, his voice a desperate plea. “Annette, I checked. Max is a perfect match for Lily. Please… just let him give her one of his kidneys. Please?” … Nicholas was a man defined by his pride. He never bowed his head for anyone or anything. Even when he proposed, he hadn’t asked. He’d simply tossed a ring box at me and said, “Marry me. You won’t regret it.” But now, for Claire’s daughter, he was on his knees, as pathetic as a stray dog begging for scraps. In the sweltering summer heat, an icy chill spread through my bones. I closed my eyes, the world spinning. “Nicholas, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” A tiny, foolish part of me held out hope. If he would just say it was a moment of madness, that he didn’t mean it, I could forgive him. We could pretend this conversation never happened. But Nicholas remained silent, his jaw set. He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but people can live perfectly normal lives with just one kidney.” When I didn’t answer, his voice turned to steel. “If you won’t agree, then I’ll have to remind you that I am also Max’s legal guardian. I have the right to sign the consent forms.” The air left my lungs. A wave of grief and fury so powerful it almost knocked me over washed through me. “Absolutely not,” I choked out, the words tasting like poison. He reached out, his expression pained, and tried to stroke my hair. “Annette, don’t make this difficult.” I flinched away, hammering my fists against his chest. “You said we were your everything!” I sobbed. “The day Max was born, you promised! Nicholas, that was only three years ago!” I collapsed against him, my fight draining away. “There has to be another way, right? Medicine is so advanced now. Can’t they just wait? Maybe another donor will come along. Please.” A flicker of sorrow crossed his face. “If there were any other option, of course I wouldn’t want Max to—” His phone rang. He glanced at the screen: Claire. Without a second’s hesitation, he pushed me away and answered. Claire was hysterical on the other end. “Nicholas, Lily’s back in the ICU! I’m here all alone, I don’t know what to do…” The tenderness on Nicholas’s face vanished, replaced by sheer panic. He grabbed his car keys and bolted for the door, not even looking back. “We can’t wait any longer,” he threw over his shoulder, his voice cold and final. “Don’t worry. I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure both children are safe.” Max, who had just woken up from his nap, toddled after him, calling out, “Daddy, where go? Max go too!” Nicholas didn’t even glance back. He let Max stumble and fall on the front steps, his cries echoing in the sudden silence of the house. In that moment, my heart turned to ice. I wiped my tears, scooped up my wailing son, and sent Nicholas a text. “I want a divorce.” Nicholas didn’t reply. He came home late that night, laden with toys and candy, and Claire was trailing behind him. Before I could stop him, Max had already run into his father’s arms. Nicholas smiled, handing Max a brightly colored plastic toy. “Do you like it? Daddy and Auntie Claire picked it out just for you. And look, your favorite snacks.” He settled Max on his lap, tore open a bag of candy, and popped a piece into our son’s mouth. Max, having already forgotten the morning’s abandonment, snuggled against his father’s chest, giggling happily. I watched them, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. Max adored his father, even more than he did me. And this man, this father, was willing to carve a kidney out of his own son. It was Claire who nudged him, reminding him of my presence. Nicholas looked up and pulled a necklace from his pocket. “It’s a wishbone, Annette. For you. From now on, whatever you wish for, I’ll make it happen.” I stared at him, my expression unreadable, and pushed his hand away. “My only wish is for you to call off this donation.” He looked down, mumbling something under his breath. “Annette, do you think this is easy for me? Max is my flesh and blood. But I’ve watched Lily grow up, too. I can’t just let her die.” “Nicholas, let it go,” Claire whispered, her eyes welling up. “It was my fault. I was impulsive to even suggest that Max could help Lily. I’ve caused nothing but trouble for your family. It’s all my fault.” She bowed her head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the very picture of tragic beauty. Watching her tears splash onto the polished floor, Nicholas’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. “How could this be your fault?” he said, his voice fierce. “Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would have offered.” The intimacy between them was a physical pain, a blade twisting in my gut. I took a deep breath to keep from screaming. The tension in the room made Max start to cry, but Nicholas only had eyes for Claire, his gaze full of pity and protection. The blood in my veins ran cold. Before I married Nicholas, I knew he had a childhood sweetheart. When I’d hesitated about our future, he’d sworn to me that he and Claire were just friends, that she would never come between us. Lies. All of it. When Claire went into labor, Nicholas abandoned a career-making international conference to be by her side. The day Lily was born, Nicholas, a man who scoffed at sentimentality, went to a high-end auction and bought a custom-made pink diamond tiara as a welcome-to-the-world gift for another man’s child. The moment Lily showed a flicker of interest in art, he pulled strings to have the country’s most renowned painter take her on as a private student. And my Max? When he was born, all he got was a small, silver locket. Two days later, his father volunteered for a medical mission in Africa and was gone for a month. He claimed to love us, to love me and Max above all else, but he always, always put Claire and her daughter first. For years I had lied to myself, pretending not to see. But I couldn’t lie anymore. Max was still holding the cheap toy Nicholas had brought, the cloyingly sweet candy still in his mouth. He never liked things like this, but because it was from his father, he treasured it. “Max, spit that out,” I said softly. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.” “That’s enough, Annette!” Nicholas snapped. “If you have a problem with me and Claire, say it to my face! Don’t take it out on our son! What kind of mother are you?” Even now, he was defending her. “If our Max had kidney failure, Claire and Lily would donate in a heartbeat! Annette, you can’t be this selfish!” “Don’t say that, Nicholas,” Claire sobbed, pressing herself against his chest. “Just pretend you never knew me. Pretend Lily and I don’t exist.” Nicholas’s eyes were glacial as he glared at me. “We’ve been married for years, and it’s only now that I see how cold and heartless you truly are.” A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. Our honeymoon in Hawaii. In the middle of it, Claire got divorced. She posted a single sad selfie on Instagram, and Nicholas, without a word to me, booked the next flight back to comfort her. He stayed by her side for two weeks. While I walked alone on beaches crowded with happy couples, Claire’s feed was full of pictures of the “World’s Best Friend,” featuring Nicholas in her kitchen, making her heart-shaped pancakes. While I sat by myself under a palm tree, her story was a picture of Nicholas’s profile in a darkened movie theater, captioned, “The secret from when we were eighteen.” For two weeks, I woke up every morning and scrolled through her life, my tears falling until I was just numb. But I still trusted him. I still believed him. Watching the undisguised tenderness in his eyes as he held Claire, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “So, if we had gotten married just a little later, you would have called it off and married her instead, wouldn’t you?” Crack. The sting of his palm against my cheek exploded across my face. Nicholas’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. “Yes, I was in love with Claire. That’s not a secret. But I gave up a world of memories with her for you! Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to say things like that just to hurt me?” His cruel words were a knife, carving out my heart. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free, streaming down my face. When I looked up at him again, there was nothing left in my eyes. No love, no pain. Just emptiness. “No,” I said, my voice hollow. “You don’t have to give up anything. From now on, you will never see me or Max again.” I scooped Max into my arms and turned to leave. But Nicholas blocked my path. “You can go,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “But Max stays.” My lips parted, but all that came out was a broken, mirthless laugh. “Nicholas, do you really have to be so cruel?” He didn’t answer. In one swift movement, he snatched Max from my arms and shoved me so hard I fell to the floor. He handed our crying son to Claire. “Take him and go! Now!”

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1 On our wedding day, my lawyer wife, Victoria, got into the wrong limousine and spent our wedding night with my assistant, Alex. The next morning, she knelt before me, covered in marks, begging for forgiveness. She swore she’d fire him. A year later, I found her in a hospital maternity ward during a supposed business trip. She held a newborn, and beside her stood Alex, back after a year away. Blinded by rage, I threw them out. But that night, the baby disappeared. Victoria was convinced I did it. To force my hand, she suspended my parents over an active volcano. I denied it, my voice desperate. “I sacrificed so much for you, Noah!” she screamed. “Return my child, or I drop them.” She lowered them—their shoe soles melted instantly. When I couldn’t produce the baby, she prepared to release the cable—until a call came: the child was found. Without looking back, she walked away. My parents fell into the molten rock. While she and Alex celebrated their son’s first month, I sifted through cooled ash for my parents’ charred bones. In that moment, I regretted ever loving her. … I knelt in the volcanic dust, cradling the blackened, incomplete remains of my parents, my heart a shard of glass in my chest. They had always treated Victoria like their own daughter. They had sponsored her through high school; without them, she never would have even made it to college. But just because I had thrown her out of the hospital, she assumed I had stolen her and Alex’s child. And for that, she had murdered my parents. One more week. In one more week, I could leave her forever, taking my parents’ ashes with me. I secured the small pouch containing their remains inside my shirt and went home. As I walked through the villa’s front gate, I saw Victoria, holding the baby, happily mingling with friends and family. She saw my swollen, red-rimmed eyes and shot me a single, cold glance. “Noah, you still have the nerve to show your face? You watched your own parents hang over a volcano, all for a petty act of revenge, and you still wouldn’t tell the truth. You almost made my son miss his own celebration. You’re truly toxic.” Her child was celebrating his new life, while my parents didn’t even have a complete skeleton left. My mouth opened, but my throat felt as if it were filled with hot ash. No sound came out. “Whatever,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Thankfully, the baby was found. I forgive you. Mom and Dad must have been uncomfortable hanging over that crater for so long. I’ll arrange for them to have a check-up at the hospital later.” She handed the baby to a nanny and walked towards me, reaching for my hand as she always did. I yanked it away. “Don’t bother,” I said, my head bowed. Victoria’s brow furrowed, and she was about to question me when Alex rushed over and began to beat me with his fists and feet. “I’m not competing with you for Victoria anymore! Why do you still have to go after our child? Are you even human?” A grunt of pain escaped my lips. The image of my parents’ final moments flashed before my eyes, and I summoned all my strength to fight back. But at a sharp command from Victoria, two bodyguards seized me, pinning me to the floor. I couldn’t move, forced to endure Alex’s punches raining down on my stomach. After the ninety-ninth blow, when I was coughing up blood and barely conscious, Victoria finally gestured for them to release me. She looked at me, her expression complicated. “The baby developed a high fever right after we found him. You went too far. It’s only right that you let Alex blow off some steam.” I forced my lips into a smile, but a tear hit the floor before I could manage it. Victoria froze, and for a second, she looked like she might help me up. But then Alex clutched his chest and collapsed, groaning theatrically. Her face changed instantly. “Quick! Get him to the hospital!” She half-dragged, half-pulled me into the car. With every bump in the road, the searing pain in my abdomen felt like I was being flayed alive. At the hospital, Alex whispered weakly, “Victoria, I have severe anemia. The stress Noah put me under… I might need a transfusion.” Victoria’s eyes immediately fell on me. “Doctor, draw his blood,” she commanded, not even looking in my direction. The doctor tried to intervene. “The patient has just been assaulted and may have internal injuries. We can’t draw his blood!” But Victoria’s attention was fixed on the whimpering Alex. She turned back to me, her face set with grim determination. “Noah, this was your fault. Alex only acted out because he was sick with worry over the baby. You need to compensate him. We’ll do the transfusion, and when it’s over, I’ll make you soup myself. I’ll make sure you get your strength back.” Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. “I’m telling you again,” I said, my voice faint, “I didn’t take your child. Let me go.” She just frowned, her eyes full of disappointment. “You still won’t admit your mistake?” She had her men hold me down as the nurse drew tube after tube of my blood. As I was about to pass out, I saw a flash of pity in her eyes. But then Alex moaned from his bed, and she was instantly by his side, cooing and comforting him. Alex shot me a triumphant look and mouthed two words: “Pathetic loser.” Suddenly, the door to the room burst open and Victoria’s parents stormed in, making a beeline for Alex. “Oh, my sweet boy! Why are you so pale? Did that good-for-nothing piece of trash upset you?” her mother cried, stroking Alex’s forehead. Then she saw me on the floor, and her face turned to stone. She marched over and spat directly in my face. “My daughter must have been blind to marry a worthless animal like you! Can’t have your own children, so you steal someone else’s!” I used to consistently outperform Victoria in school, but I willingly stepped back to manage our lives so she could focus on her law career. Her parents saw this as me being lazy and unambitious. They had always disliked me, always using Alex to humiliate me. Before I could respond, her father was standing over me, his face a dark mask. He lifted his polished leather shoe and brought it down with all his force onto my already bruised abdomen. There was a sickening thud. The feeling of bone and organ shattering sent a final, blinding wave of pain through me, and I blacked out. I woke to the tearing agony in my midsection. Alex’s whining voice drifted over from the next bed. “Victoria, if Noah knew one of his kidneys was removed and transplanted into me, do you think he’d go crazy?” Victoria’s soothing reply came immediately. “Dad’s kick ruptured one of them anyway, and he was bleeding internally. They couldn’t save it. It was useless to him, so it was only right to give it to you as compensation for the scare he gave you.” She added, “He’s still unstable. Let’s not tell him for now.” I stared blankly at the ceiling. Alex had beaten me half to death, but he was the one who had gotten a scare. A scare that was compensated with my kidney. Victoria, I thought, did you ever love me at all? Just then, the curtain between our beds was pulled back. Alex’s triumphant face appeared. “You’re tough, Noah. I’m surprised you’re not dead. You know, I was never sick. The blood you gave me? I poured it out for the stray dogs. And your kidney? Fed it to them, too.” He pulled out his phone, played a video, and held it in front of my face. On the screen, my kidney lay on the pavement outside the hospital while a pack of wild dogs tore it to pieces. “Your parts are only good enough for the dogs,” he sneered, then burst out laughing. With my last ounce of strength, I slapped him across the face. The next second, I vomited a mouthful of blood, spraying it all over his expensive shirt. He didn’t care. His grin was victorious. At that exact moment, the door opened. “Noah—!” Victoria rushed to my bedside and slapped me twice, hard. Alex put on a show. “Victoria, don’t hit him. It’s okay. If he’s willing to steal our child, what’s a little slap? I was just trying to check on him. I guess he doesn’t want to see me.” He started to fake-sob. “Noah! Are you even human?!” Victoria’s voice was laced with fury and disappointment. “You’ve put Alex through so much, and he still defends you! I told you to reflect on what you’ve done, and this is the result? I truly regret ever marrying you!” Her words washed over me, and my heart turned to ash. I simply stared at her, then slowly lifted the bedsheet, revealing the fresh, angry scar on my abdomen. Victoria flinched and looked away, helping Alex to his feet. As they left, he turned back and mouthed silently: Loser. You were with her for five years. So what? She still prefers her assistant! I managed a bitter smile and closed my eyes. When your heart is dead, you can’t feel pain anymore. But Victoria, as for marrying you? I regret it more than you ever will. I left the hospital alone. When I got home, Victoria was on the sofa, her arms around Alex, the baby in her lap. They were watching TV, a picture of domestic bliss that burned my eyes. She saw me and quickly pulled away from him. I said nothing, just walked calmly to our room to pack my things. She followed me in, trying to hug me from behind. “Noah, let me explain,” she said, her voice artificially soft. “Alex hasn’t recovered yet, and there’s no one to take care of him, so I let them stay here temporarily. I promise, as soon as he’s better, they’ll leave.” I sidestepped her touch, continuing to pack. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. Let’s get a divorce.” She stared at me, shocked. “Divorce? Impossible! Noah, you know I love you!” Before she could finish, Alex was leaning against the doorframe, looking pale. “Victoria, don’t fight with Noah because of me and the baby. If he really can’t stand having us here, we can leave right now.” I ignored him and folded my last shirt. Victoria looked at my unresponsive back, her frown deepening. “Noah! I already apologized to you! Have you no compassion? Don’t forget, this villa is in my name! If anyone’s getting out, it’s you, with your cold heart! Alex and the baby deserve to stay!” She crossed her arms, expecting me to back down and beg as I always did. But this time, I slowly raised my head and looked at her with eyes like stagnant water. “Victoria, I’m serious about the divorce. Think it over. Let me know when you’re ready to finalize it. As for you and Alex, I wish you a long and happy life together.” Her eyes filled with disbelief, then she snapped, “Fine! Let’s do it! Whoever backs out is a coward! You don’t even have a kidney left! You’ll be on dialysis for the rest of your life! Let’s see how you survive without me!” I silently zipped up my suitcase, walked past her, and went to the living room to grab the jacket I had been wearing the day I was hospitalized. Tucked inside was the small pouch with my parents’ remains. As I reached for it, a maid brought out a bowl of soup. “Sir, Mr. Alex had us make this especially for you. He said it would warm you up.” I glanced suspiciously at Alex, who was standing in the bedroom doorway. He gave me a sadistic grin and gestured towards my jacket. I sprinted to the kitchen. In the soup pot were the fragmented remains of my parents. A pain so sharp it felt like a thousand needles pierced my heart. Numbly, I grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged at Alex. “Noah! Are you insane—!” Victoria’s shriek cut through the air. She had rushed between us, and with all her strength, she twisted the knife from my hand and plunged it into my abdomen. The surgical wound tore open again. I collapsed, laughing through tears of blood. “Am I insane? My parents are…” “Your parents are fine, Noah!” she cut me off, a flicker of pain in her eyes as she looked at me. “But you keep trying to hurt Alex and the baby! I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch you make these mistakes…” She was rambling, her eyes darting everywhere but at me, everywhere but at the blood pouring from my stomach. “Don’t move. I’ll have the maids take you to the hospital. I’ll come see you as soon as I’ve calmed Alex down.” She left me bleeding on the floor and carefully escorted Alex back to the bedroom. I pushed myself up against a wall and retrieved my parents’ remains from the pot. With a cold smile, I tossed a file onto the floor. Then, as everyone stared in shock, I staggered out of the villa. Inside that file was the prenuptial agreement my parents had insisted Victoria sign. If the wife was found to be at major fault during the marriage, she had to agree to an unconditional divorce, and the agreement would automatically take effect. The effective date was tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would be free. At the hospital, the doctor silently stitched up the new wound on my abdomen. After the anesthetic wore off, I didn’t stay. I took the last of my parents’ ashes and boarded the first train back to my hometown. Meanwhile, back at the villa, Victoria’s unease grew. My dead eyes as I left haunted her. She was struck by the realization that she had been far too cruel to me. She grabbed her car keys and raced to the hospital. The nurse at the emergency desk checked the records. “Noah? He came in this evening. We treated his wound, and he left.” “Left? Where did he go?” Victoria’s heart leaped into her throat. “How would we know where patients go after they’re discharged?” the nurse replied impatiently. Victoria sped back home and tore through every room, the garage, the garden. He was gone. It was as if he had evaporated. She collapsed, clutching her head and sobbing, a terrible feeling washing over her that she had lost me forever. The old maid timidly approached and handed her the file I had left on the floor. “Ma’am, I think your husband left this for you.” With trembling hands, Victoria took the file and pulled out the papers. Tucked inside the prenuptial agreement was another document. A single sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a death certificate.

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Twenty-eight days after my wife passed away. The CEO of Blackwood Industries—the man who had battled her in the marketplace for a lifetime—also committed suicide at his home. His lawyer appeared immediately, presenting the joint will he and my wife had signed, stipulating in black and white that they were to be interred together. Their story instantly became a legend. The world marveled at the intensity of their yin and yang existence. They said their darkness and glory, their joy and anguish, were forever intertwined. They spoke of the CEO, who had never married, finally getting his wish: to be with his beloved in death. No one spared a thought for me, her legitimate husband. In their grand narrative, I didn’t even rate a footnote as the jealous villain. I lived out the next three years in obscurity. When I finally closed my eyes, my soul was desolate. When I opened them again, it was that summer—a scorching, cicada-loud heatwave. Vivian Shaw was looking at me, a wide, sun-drenched smile on her face. She asked me to be her boyfriend. This time, I looked into the eyes that had once been my whole world and slowly shook my head. … Vivian’s smile froze, her expression shifting to one of sheer confusion. After a long silence, she finally found her voice. “Spencer, I need a reason.” “I thought we were just one word away from officially being together…” “That was your assumption!” I cut her off, the words sharp and final. Gazing at the slightly softer, younger version of Vivian Shaw, I forced myself to be cruel. “I’ve never had those kinds of feelings for you. You completely misread the situation!” I didn’t look at her again. I turned and fled. The tears came the very second I turned my back, splattering onto my hand, a shock of cold that brought back the terrible reality of my rebirth. Even though I knew with absolute clarity: This Vivian Shaw had not yet met Damon Blackwood, the man whose name would be irrevocably linked with hers for the rest of that life. She hadn’t yet committed the acts that had shattered me in the past. Still, I couldn’t stop the resentment. The memory of the last life was a rusted but razor-sharp knife. Every detail was embedded deep in my bones, a chronic, agonizing ache. Before thirty-six, Vivian had belonged completely to Spencer. She had abandoned the last three problems on her college entrance exam just because I’d said I didn’t want a long-distance relationship. She’d stayed up all night in winter, eyes red-rimmed, clumsily knitting me uneven scarves and blankets. In her junior year, she’d plunged into her first startup, driven only by the goal of building a life for us where we’d envy no one. But after thirty-six, Vivian Shaw was split in two. One half was tethered to the marriage, to the responsibility, to me—the increasingly silent husband. The other half, however, drifted uncontrollably toward Damon Blackwood. Toward the man who was her equal, her ultimate rival, her fated adversary. That was also the year I traveled across the country, seeking out every specialist and remedy. I finally managed to treat Vivian’s infertility, and we conceived our child. Yet, she ignored the herbal tonics I painstakingly brewed to support the pregnancy. She paid no heed to the doctor’s cautions. Instead, she was locked in a brutal, back-and-forth corporate war with Damon Blackwood. One day, it was the City Center merger; they’d drink until they had to prop each other up to walk. The next, it was the Weston Project; they’d meet at some exclusive lounge, gambling with dice and drinking until dawn. Once, at a corporate VIP event, they even walked away with a joke marriage certificate. They took a photo, posting it to social media, laughing with an unrestrained arrogance that made me sick. Then, when she was seven months pregnant, Damon called. In a light, challenging tone, he mentioned a newly discovered base-jumping site and dared her to join him. She agreed almost instantly. I grabbed her wrist, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Vivian, are you insane? Look at your stomach! That’s our child!” She simply shrugged off my grip, annoyed by the interference. “I can’t miss this opportunity. Damon is waiting on that chopper, I can’t let him look down on me.” With that, she grabbed her jacket and ran out the door. She even signed the consent form for an immediate induction—all so she could board that helicopter and go head-to-head with Damon Blackwood. Later, she won the contest. Damon posted a photo of the two of them leaping side-by-side from the high altitude, captioning it, “An equal opponent. What a thrill!” It drew thousands of awe-struck comments. And I, in a hospital room smelling of antiseptic, was left alone. I took home the remains of the girl who had been so close to full term. She returned home a few days later. She looked at the remains—smaller than a grape—and was silent for a rare, brief moment. Then, without a word, she clasped a solid gold Rolex onto my wrist. “Spencer, I know this was wrong of me.” “We’ll have another baby later, but I couldn’t let Damon get the best of me…” I stared at the watch for a long time. My voice sounded dry, alien to my own ears. “Winning that jump—the one you chose over me and our child—how did it feel?” “Was it so exhilarating? Did it make you happier than seeing our baby?” A smug look crossed Vivian’s face. “Of course. It was mainly that Damon finally had to admit defeat.” She paused, attempting a hollow justification. “Actually… after the competition, I made him drink a bitter espresso, which he hates, as revenge for you and the baby.” I turned my head away, closing my eyes. A single tear tracked silently into my hairline. My mind flashed with the comments from the gossip sites, the rabid fans of their “Rivalry Royalty” coupling. They said: Rivals are rivals. Rivals can never become husbands. Vivian. In the moment you walked toward that jump site, deciding to give up our child… did you really know if it was ambition, or something else entirely? Vivian’s anxious voice broke through my daze. “Spencer.” She ran up and blocked my path, fine sweat beading on her forehead. “Spencer, why? You clearly… clearly felt something for me too. Why this sudden change?” The twenty-year-old girl standing before me wasn’t yet the corporate powerhouse of the past. Now, merely the rejection from the man she loved had made her eyes red. She was like a small, stubborn, abandoned animal, demanding an answer. My heart clenched painfully, leaving me breathless. How could this be? How could the Vivian who panicked when I simply went silent turn into the woman she became? The nightmare of the last life flashed before me again. To win a property bid, Damon Blackwood spread rumors that Vivian was sexually harassing him. Worse, at my father’s sixtieth birthday party, he played AI-spliced, intimate videos of her and Damon. The entire room erupted in chaos. My father suffered a cerebral hemorrhage on the spot and never recovered. I drove like a maniac to Damon’s company, determined to kill him. But Vivian rushed in and physically restrained me. She gripped my wrist so hard I thought the bone would snap. Yet, her voice was terrifyingly calm. “You can’t blame Damon for this.” “It’s Dad’s own fault for being so sensitive, for believing a fake video.” “He knew his blood pressure was high, but he couldn’t control his emotions. Besides, business is war. Winning is the only objective. No tactic is shameful.” I stared at her, chilled to the core. “That was my father! Vivian, the man who raised me! Are you going to use human lives as stepping stones in your rivalry?” The only response was her silence. As I was half-dragged, half-shoved out of Damon’s office, I finally understood. Vivian’s internal scales had completely tipped. She wasn’t split in two anymore. She had completely, irrevocably, tipped toward Damon. The red-eyed girl in front of me was still anxiously awaiting my answer. I dropped my gaze, forcing the words past a dry throat. “There is no ‘why,’ Vivian.” “Stop coming after me. From now on, we go our separate ways.” Vivian refused to believe me. Her eyes became redder, her voice edged with clear hurt. “Separate ways? We talked about this! I start my business, you go to grad school, and we build our lives in this city together…” Her mouth kept moving, detailing the future we’d planned. But she didn’t know. In that future, only she would sail smoothly to success and fulfillment. The memory snapped back to the fork in the road of the past life. Near graduation, her startup was facing its toughest time; the funding was nearly dry. I, meanwhile, had received an acceptance letter to my dream graduate program overseas. Everyone told me to give up the opportunity, that being the future CEO’s husband was the smarter, more respectable path. “Vivian needs you right now. You should go help her.” I gritted my teeth, holding firm. Until she was hospitalized with a bleeding stomach ulcer, caused by networking events and a chaotic schedule. Lying pale in the hospital bed, she sold me the lie. “Spencer, you’re so organized. It would be perfect if you came to work with me.” “We’ll build this empire faster, together.” Just like that, I surrendered to her emotional manipulation. But once I joined the company, I was merely the one who ordered the meals, ran errands, managed her calendar, and cleaned her office. I was the back office support. It was grunt work anyone could do, and I wasn’t even paid a dime. Whenever I voiced my frustration, she’d just smile and pinch my cheek, her tone dismissive. “Your job is to secure the home front, honey.” “You’re the man behind the boss. Why would you need a salary?” I had glimpsed her underlying contempt for men involved in non-core business activities, but I’d always buried it. Until a few years later, when Damon Blackwood appeared. That contempt vanished, replaced by an increasingly unconcealed admiration and respect. My heart spasmed painfully. I covered my chest and returned to the present. I quietly spoke her name. “Vivian.” She stopped talking, her eyes shining as she looked at me. I was about to speak. Suddenly, a clear, sharp male voice called out from nearby, interrupting us. It was Damon Blackwood. A man who should not have appeared for another decade. Vivian clearly didn’t know him and looked confused. Damon smiled slightly. “I’m Damon Blackwood, an exchange student from the University of Boston this semester.” “Your advisor asked me to find you. The lecture this afternoon was moved up, and I needed to let you know.” Vivian paused, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll head over now.” She turned back, her hopeful gaze landing on my face again. “Spencer, this is urgent.” “But I’ll come back for you. We’re not finished talking about… us.” With that, she rushed away. I turned to leave, but Damon’s voice rang out again behind me. “Spencer.” The smile in his eyes had completely faded, replaced by unconcealed malice. “I transferred here for Vivian.” “This time, the person who starts the company with her, the one who shares the trenches, will be me.” I stopped, turning sharply to face him. In that instant, I understood: Damon Blackwood had also been reborn. But I couldn’t understand why. In the past life, he was already a brilliant, highly acclaimed business tycoon, his name linked with Vivian’s for a lifetime. Why would he give up that life to fight for a role that was destined to be the silent backdrop for a woman’s ambition? A torrent of questions churned inside me, but on my face, I managed only a faint smile. “You’re speaking to the wrong person, Blackwood.” “Vivian Shaw and I are just acquaintances.” I turned to leave again. Damon seemed stung by my calm indifference and sharply raised his voice. “Stop pretending you don’t care!” “You only got to her first because of luck! You know she ended up loving me, don’t you?” When I didn’t stop, he panicked. His words came out like poisoned needles. “The time you were hospitalized with the stomach ulcer, you saw Vivian come to the hospital and were touched, thinking she still cared, right?” “I pitied you then, so I didn’t tell you the truth.” “My father had been in a car accident and needed a transfusion. Vivian heard and went straight to the blood bank for him.” “It was never for you!” Damon’s voice echoed sharply in my ears. But I couldn’t hear anything else. The world suddenly went silent, and the heart in my chest dropped straight down. That one moment—the belief that she had risked everything to save me—had been Vivian’s ultimate amnesty. Every compromise, every act of self-deception, stemmed from that one beautiful, false memory. It had been a ridiculous misunderstanding all along. The burning sensation behind my eyes became unbearable, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I bit my lip and fled, not looking back. I didn’t stop until I reached a deserted side street. I sank to the ground, burying my face in my arms. Scenes from the last life flashed through my mind: I attended the same top university as Vivian. My designs were already starting to gain recognition. Yet, because of her, I overturned my life plan again and again. First, I gave up the chance to study abroad for a domestic graduate program; then, at graduation, I forfeited that acceptance letter to become her company’s so-called ‘support staff.’ I retreated again and again until I had no footing left. By the end, I didn’t even have the courage to question her relationship with Damon. Thank God. Thank God it wasn’t too late. I wiped the tears from my face, took a deep breath, and pulled out my phone. I found the email address of the foreign professor I had once rejected. Word by word, slowly and firmly, I typed: Dear Professor Hayes, After careful consideration, I have decided that I must pursue my studies abroad. Please, may I ask for another opportunity? Professor Hayes’ reply was almost immediate: Of course. Prepare your strongest portfolio and send it to me. Closing the email, my life was suddenly full. Digging up old designs, drawing new sketches, pulling all-nighters became the norm. I often looked up and saw the first grey light of dawn. Vivian still showed up occasionally. Sometimes she waited with breakfast by my dorm, sometimes she sat silently in the back row of my study hall. But she wasn’t alone. Damon Blackwood was always there, too, hovering not too far away. The twenty-year-old Vivian was direct and passionate; her world held only my retreating figure. She had no patience for the man who trailed her like a shadow. Several times, she turned back, her tone icy. “Are you a piece of gum? Can you stop following me?” The students, who assumed Vivian and I were a couple, were also critical of Damon. They whispered that he had no boundaries. He was trying to be a homewrecker, chasing a girl who clearly had a boyfriend. Because of this, Damon often looked teary-eyed when I ran into him, as if he’d been crying. Even so, he stubbornly stayed close behind Vivian. Though I was committed to having no future with her, watching the young Vivian treat Damon with such cold indifference still brought a flicker of secret comfort. At least, it proved that the young man I had been in the past had not been wrong. Only the time, and the heart that changed later. Two weeks later, the acceptance letter arrived. I thought about it, then opened Vivian’s chat window. Let’s meet. Dinner. I have something I need to tell you face-to-face. Consider it a proper farewell to the twenty-year-old Vivian. The reply was instantaneous. YES! Name the time and place. I’m free. Through the screen, I could almost see her ecstatic expression. She was like a puppy, finally noticed by its owner. We agreed on Friday night at the Thai place near campus that we used to frequent. We’d barely sat down, the menus still unopened, when Vivian’s phone rang. She glanced at it and immediately hit ignore. But the phone stubbornly rang again. This time, she hesitated before answering. The moment she connected, a choked, male voice leaked from the speaker. The sound was loud, instantly filling the small space between us. I recognized it immediately: Damon Blackwood. “Vivian, everyone’s calling me a homewrecker…” “I don’t want to love you anymore. I’ll leave, okay?” Vivian’s face flushed with panic. She immediately lowered her voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. Where are you right now?” The voice on the other end was even louder, racked with sobs. “But you and Spencer aren’t even together!” “I just fell in love with someone, how am I the villain?” “Could you… could you come see me off?” Vivian gripped her phone, her knuckles white. She looked up at me, her lips moving silently, her eyes filled with agonizing internal conflict. After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice dry. “Spencer, I have to go.” “Damon… he hasn’t really done anything wrong.” “It’s because of me that everyone’s judging him so harshly. It’s right that I go see him off.” I looked at her calmly. The last flicker of my lingering affection for the young Vivian Shaw vanished in that instant. Somewhere along the line, her impatient gaze toward Damon had been subtly seasoned with pity. I realized: whether she was twenty or thirty-six, Damon Blackwood would always attract her attention. I had been wrong from the start. Terribly wrong. I slumped back against the chair, saying nothing, just nodding my head. She looked immensely relieved and immediately stood up, running out the door. I sat alone in the noisy restaurant for a long time. Until my phone screen lit up with a photo. Under the hazy yellow streetlamp, Vivian was holding Damon tightly. They were kissing. Below the photo was a single line of text: You lose, in every lifetime. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then calmly blocked the number. I stood up, paid the bill, and walked back to the dorm. I pulled out the suitcase I’d packed days ago, called a car, and headed straight for the airport. The night grew deep, the city lights streaming past the window. This time, the twenty-year-old Vivian Shaw, and the thirty-six-year-old Vivian Shaw, were both gone forever.

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The video arrived on the tenth anniversary of my marriage to Serena Shaw, the scion of a New England financial dynasty. When I held my phone up, demanding an explanation, Seri merely shrugged, her expression calm, utterly indifferent. “I have nothing to explain.” She sighed, a delicate, practiced sound. “Your health… it’s been complicated. I couldn’t ask you to keep up, but people have needs, Ash, don’t they?” I froze, the arm holding the phone above the coffee table going numb. “That’s your excuse?” Seri didn’t answer. Her light gaze drifted over me. “Honestly, for years now, you’ve just been… underwhelming.” I looked at her, and my heart turned to an icy shard. All those promises of ‘forever’ had only amounted to a short, brutal decade. 1 Seri reached out, took the phone from my numb fingers, and tossed it onto the glass coffee table. She glanced at the screen, shutting it off casually. “I’m tired, Ash. I have been for a while.” She rubbed her temples, her expression unchanged. “I’m in my late thirties. Seeing younger men… it’s a vitality I crave.” She spoke as if discussing a new line of credit. “I had planned to keep this from you forever. But since you found out, I don’t have to walk on eggshells or manage your feelings anymore.” Seri let out a sigh of relief. Every word was a needle, puncturing my chest. The pain was so sharp I could barely stand straight. I tried to pull my lips into a smile. “Seri, this isn’t funny. Just tell me it’s a hoax, tell me it’s all a lie, and I promise I’ll believe you.” She looked at me with a complicated expression—pity, impatience, but not a flicker of remorse. She walked out and returned with a document, sliding it across the table. The bold black letters on the cover choked the words in my throat. “I’ve already signed it.” She tapped the paper. “If you’re done, sign it, and we’ll have a clean break. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of financially.” Her eyes hardened. “If you want to stay married, fine. We’ll remain husband and wife in the eyes of the media. But you won’t interfere with my private life, and I won’t interfere with yours. As long as we keep up appearances for the shareholders, nothing changes.” Her finger tapped the table again, a sound of gentle but unmistakable coercion. I opened my mouth, my eyes burning. “Why?” I whispered. “We’ve been together for twenty-two years…” Seri walked closer, taking my hand. Her thumb traced the smooth metal of my wedding ring, cutting off my protest. “Exactly. We’ve been together for that long. It’s time I tried someone else.” She paused, then looked up and gave me a dazzling, dimpled smile. “Why don’t you try someone else, too? I won’t stop you.” I lowered my eyes, pulling my hand away. My voice was husky. “I won’t divorce you.” I met her gaze, cold and steady. “Two decades of my life. I poured all twenty years into us. And you think you can settle that debt with a check?” The atmosphere thickened into a heavy silence. It was broken only by the piercing ring of her cell phone. Seri grabbed her expensive Italian leather bag from the couch. She paused at the door, glancing back at me. “Ashton, you’ll figure it out sooner or later.” The front door slammed shut, sending a rush of air through the great room. On the dining table was the dinner I’d spent all afternoon preparing to celebrate her return from a business trip. My chest heaved with rage. I picked up the divorce agreement and tore it into confetti. Then, I swept the entire meal off the table. The sound of porcelain shattering on the marble floor echoed through the cavernous, empty living room. Ten years of marriage, ten years before that in a relationship. I had spent two decades walking by her side. As her money grew, and our houses grew larger, her heart had only grown colder. When I first received the video, I’d convinced myself it was a deepfake. A cruel joke. I never once imagined that the person who would first betray our marriage would be Serena. The pieces of the divorce agreement lay scattered at my feet. Seri’s signature on the dotted line felt like a physical jab to my eye. I bent down to clean up the mess, and a shard of plate glass cut my finger. I didn’t even register the blood welling up. I needed to focus on anything else. But all I could hear was Seri’s voice from before she left. Just yesterday, we were talking about our ten-year anniversary. The day after, that video shattered everything. It was all so absurd. A waking nightmare. 2 I sat motionless in the living room for the rest of the night. By dawn, the news about Seri’s “new flame” was the lead story on every major entertainment site. The internet was flooded with news of her dropping a fortune on a custom yacht for him, or video clips of them tearing up the I-95 bridge in her convertible. The comments were everywhere: [At the end of the day, they’re all the same.] [Rich people rarely stay faithful. Of course she has a side-piece. I just didn’t expect it from Serena Shaw.] [I heard she was utterly obsessed with Ashton Reed back in the day. The fireworks on their wedding night lasted three days straight.] [Dozens of millions in pyrotechnics! It was a spectacle.] The posts felt deliberately placed, like Seri wanted me to see them. Every comment constricted my heart. I remembered the day Shaw Global went public. She stood on stage, holding my hand for all the reporters and cameras to see. “This is my husband, my first love, the man I’ve adored for fifteen years,” she announced to the world. “He got me through the absolute hardest times. Without him, there would be no Shaw Global today.” That day, she was radiant, clutching my arm, her dimples deep with happiness. It was also the day she promised the cameras: “I will love Ashton Reed forever.” That interview is still online, constantly cited as a testament to true love. But her version of forever was short—only ten years. Now, a different man stood beside her, receiving the same tender attention she used to reserve for me. She was fending off the press, a subtle smile playing on her lips. “Devin’s just a college kid. Direct your questions to me. Don’t harass him.” My vision blurred. I compulsively watched the interview playback again and again, almost in an act of self-flagellation. Finally, Seri called. Her voice was still soft. “Did you see the news? Everyone’s speculating that we’ve already divorced. Which, let’s be honest, is only a matter of time.” She paused. “The documents can be signed today if you’ve come to your senses. Or, would you rather see it for yourself?” She texted me an address. I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. I didn’t know if I was driving there because of a foolish, tiny spark of hope, or out of pure, white-hot defiance. I hadn’t even walked through the door when I heard the loud laughter coming from the private lounge. “Seri, what about your husband back home?” Through the cracked door, I heard Seri’s casual reply. “He’s about to be history.” My hand clenched at my side. I pushed the door open. In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me. My gaze went straight to the college boy. Just as she’d described him: young, handsome, and arrogantly self-assured. He met my eyes and smirked, throwing his arm possessively around Seri’s waist. “Mr. Reed. Seri and I had a bet. If you showed up today, you had to drink this bottle.” He gestured to a high-end bottle of liquor. “You’re not going to let us down, are you?” My breath hitched. I looked up at Seri. She said nothing, a clear indication that the wager was real. “I don’t drink.” I clipped the refusal, staring her down. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” Seri sighed, looking at me with undisguised impatience. “Ashton, you’re always so tedious. It’s just a shot, not a death sentence.” She leaned back into Devin’s embrace. “You want to talk? Finish the bottle, and we’ll talk.” My lips were pressed into a thin line, my heart stinging with a dense, agonizing ache. I picked up the bottle of clear liquor and, right in front of her, downed the entire thing. The smile on Seri’s face faltered. She seemed to have forgotten that I’d sacrificed half my stomach for her. Seri was allergic to alcohol, but she couldn’t avoid it when running deals. I had taken over every single client meeting, every brutal, boozy dinner, drinking myself sick to close the deals. I’d nearly killed myself doing it, until I ended up needing half my stomach surgically removed. “Can we talk now?” My voice was raw and hoarse. My stomach twisted with a sickening cramp, and my vision swam. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw the blood drain from Seri’s face. 3 When I woke up in the hospital, Seri wasn’t there. The doctor stood by my bed, frowning at my chart. “Where is the family member?” I weakly shook my head. The doctor moved on to the next patient. The bed next to mine was occupied by a young couple. The girl was chattering, mostly scolding the boy for being clumsy, but the love in her eyes was palpable and pure. It was exactly how Seri used to look at me. My phone buzzed on the nightstand—a barrage of anonymous texts. Each one contained a new photo of Seri and Devin: matching couple tattoos, ziplining together, praying at an ancient mission, chasing the aurora borealis. Seri was right. She was happier with Devin. “Youth has its currency, Mr. Reed. Wouldn’t you agree?” Devin’s faintly mocking voice echoed in my mind, a challenge I couldn’t refute. Seri finally came in on the third day of my hospital stay. She sat by the bed, looking at me, her expression fraught. “Devin is young and careless. Don’t hold it against him.” Her first sentence was a defense of him. The dull, persistent ache in my heart sharpened into a fresh stab of pain. “Are you still hurting?” She held my hand, searching for the right words. “I forgot you couldn’t drink, but you knew that, Ash. Why did you do it? Were you genuinely trying to punish yourself?” Seeing my silence, Seri realized her mistake. She ran a restless hand through her hair, inadvertently exposing a faint red mark on her neck. Finally, she slumped in defeat. “I’m sorry.” I pulled my hand back, turning my gaze away from her. An odd, charged silence filled the room. For a brief period after that, Seri seemed to revert back to her old self. Perhaps it was guilt, perhaps a fleeting moment of conscience. For a few days, she was by my bedside almost constantly, watching me take my medication, personally preparing me bowls of restorative broth. It was almost like the beginning again. The time when she’d lost everything: the daughter of Manhattan Royalty, stripped of her empire overnight. Her parents, unable to face the ruin, took their own lives. I found Seri after she’d cut her wrists, and thankfully saved her life. From that moment, I swore I would protect her. In our hardest years, we lived in ten-dollar-a-night motels, sharing a single cup of instant ramen. She’d always sneak the one egg I could afford beneath the noodles, pretending she didn’t see my grueling hours running errands and taking odd jobs. Back then, getting sick was terrifying because we had no money for medicine or treatment. She would look out the motel’s rusted-out window at the skyscrapers and the endless traffic. “Ashton,” she used to say, “we have to get out of this place.” We did. We climbed out. But she changed. That night, the dim bedside lamp flickered. Seri sat slumped in the chair, half-asleep. I looked at her, greedily absorbing the sight. Then I looked away. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t stay this way. Her heart had long ago left this room. Sure enough, a call from Devin woke her up. She didn’t offer a single word of explanation, grabbed her coat, and rushed out of the hospital room. 4 The next day was supposed to be my discharge date. Seri called after she left. The gentle tone from the previous days was gone. “Devin’s been expelled from school.” Her voice was tight. “Was that your doing? He’s threatening to hurt himself now. If anything happens…” “Ashton, don’t push me.” She hung up before I could reply. News about Devin spread instantly. One viral post after another popped up: [They say Song Yu is a vindictive loser. Looks like Serena was right to want a divorce.] [Being fierce and chasing what you want is the Big Female Lead move. It takes guts. Ashton Reed is just a petty, jealous man going after a kid.] [Isn’t he the kept man? The useless house husband? Those men are the worst.] The public narrative was entirely against me. Even worse, Seri, who rarely posted anything personal, updated her social media: [Twenty-plus years of history with Ashton ends today. I refuse to tolerate a man who is content to be utterly unaccomplished.] Her statement threw me straight into the pyre. I quickly signed my discharge papers. Stepping out of the hospital, I was instantly surrounded by reporters. Their camera flashes blinded me. I felt like a public enemy. I fought my way out of the throng and drove home in a desperate, panicked state. When I pushed open the front door, Seri was sitting on the sofa. A news channel was playing on her tablet, showing my pale, desperate face from outside the hospital. “Was it you?” My voice was terribly hoarse. Seri didn’t deny it. Instead, she pushed a fresh copy of the divorce agreement towards me. “What I said was true, wasn’t it, Ashton? Haven’t I been the one supporting you for years?” Her eyes were cold. “You spread rumors, claiming he was a kept boy, a mistress, and you got his scholarship revoked. I never knew you were so full of such intense jealousy.” A hysterical laugh burst from me. All the humiliation and grievance of the past weeks finally erupted. “So you’re playing both sides in the media? Devin is a homewrecker! We’re still married! And why did I stop working? You know perfectly well why! That huge company of yours? I built that with my life!” Seri’s face instantly darkened. She slapped me, hard. The force sent a ringing echo through my ear. “No one made you help. You did it voluntarily. I would have built this company just fine without you.” Her voice rose, laced with contempt. “Haven’t I been good to you all these years? The big house, the luxury cars. What can you actually contribute? All you can do is use your sacrifices to make me feel guilty and chase my attention!” She leaned in, her voice low and furious. “You’re pathetic! You love these self-pitying martyrdom plays!” It was as if she were finally voicing every unspoken resentment she’d bottled up over the years. “You’re an embarrassment, Ashton. Devin is at least young and attractive, someone I’m not ashamed to be seen with. What do you offer me?” My eyes were bloodshot. The last flickering ember of hope in my heart was extinguished. All my recent efforts, all the self-delusion, felt like a cruel joke. In that moment of pure rage, people speak their deepest, ugliest truths. Seri was about to say something else. I snatched a pen from the desk and scrawled my name on the signature line. She opened her mouth, but the words were stuck. She picked up the signed agreement, flipping through the pages. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the paper bearing my name. “We’ll see each other at the Registry after the cooling-off period.” I met her eyes one last time. “Your company’s half equity… it’s mine. It’s what I paid for.” I threw the pen down, turned my back, and walked out of the house we had shared for ten years. I could feel Seri’s gaze burning into my back. This time, I was never looking back.

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The lingering warmth of our wedding night was still heavy in the air when Damon leaned closer and dropped the bomb. “I have a mistress—a little canary I keep. Tonight is our 100-day mark. I need to be with her.” My mind went instantly, terrifyingly blank. “You love another woman, and you still married me?” He rose and began to dress. The crescent-shaped marks I’d bitten into his collarbone were still bright red. “I love you most, Sasha. But she’s feral. She gives me something you can’t.” He pulled on his shirt, his movements unhurried, agonizing. “Seven years, baby. Our life is safe. It’s… flat. I need the rush, the pure hit of adrenaline she gives me.” I clutched the tangled sheets, my knuckles white and aching. “So, on our wedding night, you’re going to leave me here alone to celebrate with your mistress?” “The wedding night part is finished,” he said, his voice flat. He leaned over, his thumb brushing my lower lip, a motion that was both possessive and chillingly impersonal. “She’s young, she’s dramatic. I have to placate her. You’re Mrs. Thorne now. You need to be the bigger person.” “And if I’m not the bigger person?” He gave a low, knowing laugh, as if he’d anticipated this exact line. “Then we divorce. But you walk away with nothing. Think clearly, Sasha.” I was sprawled across the rumpled silk of the bed, the residual heat of his body a cruel reminder of the past hour. The wedding portrait on the nightstand was a blinding white lie, searing itself onto my soul like a brand. … Perhaps the utter ruin in my eyes finally reached him. Damon sighed, a curt sound of impatience, and ruffled my hair. “Remember the day you picked your ring?” he asked, a new layer of cruelty entering his voice. “I was right in the next soundproofed suite at Tiffany’s. I was taking her.” He paused, savoring the shock that must have been written all over my face. “She was biting her lip, afraid you’d hear her moan through the walls. That kind of high-stakes thrill—you can’t give me that. You understand?” My blood didn’t just run cold; it froze solid. The tears, however, betrayed me, a hot, uncontrollable flood down my cheeks. That day, I’d been giddy, choosing the most beautiful diamond I could find, only to realize he’d disappeared. When I called, he’d sounded breathless, claiming he was handling a crisis downtown. I’d played the fool, telling him to be careful, don’t get hurt. Damon wiped away a tear with his thumb, his tone falsely gentle. “Truthfully, I didn’t want to miss a second of you planning the wedding. But the kid is new. I got a taste, and I was hooked.” I stared at the ring on my finger, my vision hollow, unable to even blink. He sighed, kissed my hand, and let go. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I know this hurts.” He motioned toward the window. “If you demand the divorce, I’ll give you the Crestwood Hills estate as compensation.” He took a step back. “But if you’re willing to ride this out, everything I’ve built is yours. Every cent. Even my miserable heart.” This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. I was married to the man I’d loved for seven years—a grand wedding, a flawless diamond, and the envy of every woman who knew I’d become the wife of the city’s most formidable magnate. Ten minutes ago, we were a wildfire, consuming each other. Now, I was a punchline, weeping as I asked him: “Why tell me? Why tonight?” He continued to wipe my tears, his gaze unsettlingly tender. “Because I don’t want to lie to you, my girl. I know I’m rotten. But we’re husband and wife; I should be honest.” He paused, a dark, playful curve to his mouth. “And another reason. I wanted to see your face when you found out. Just as I imagined. Pathetic enough to break my heart, which just makes me want to make it up to you even more.” He leaned in close, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “So, please, don’t leave me. I’ll go back to loving you the way I used to, hmm?” I raised my hand and slapped him. The sound was a sharp, cracking retort in the silence. I grabbed the nearest objects—the photo frame, a bottle of perfume—and hurled them at him, screaming with every ounce of air in my lungs. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Damon turned his head, wiped a trickle of blood from his lip, and stood up, smoothing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t look angry, just… disappointed. He walked toward the door. “You should cool off, Sasha.” He opened the door. “I’m going to go celebrate with my girl.” The door clicked shut. I looked at my reflection in the diamond on my finger—a hysterical, disheveled stranger. I scrambled to the corner of the bed, tearing at my hair, hitting my head against the wall until the pain numbed me, until I finally collapsed into darkness. The moment my eyes closed, I was seven years ago. A grimy alley. My father, drunk and violent. Damon, a teenager with nothing but raw nerve, rushing out to shield me. He’d taken several blows to the back, yet he still smiled through gritted teeth. “Don’t be scared, Sasha. I’m here. No one will hurt you.” Later, we hid in a vacant lot, sharing instant ramen. My bed was his worn-out jacket spread on the cement. Eventually, he hustled his way into the gray area—the docks, the supply chain—and earned enough for a cramped, tiny apartment. He held me so tight then. “Sasha, we have a home now.” Those memories were a drug. I’d been addicted to them for too long, forgetting that hearts—and men—change. I woke up to my best friend Gwen’s frantic texts. “Sasha! This photo has to be deepfake! Damon loves you, this is a lie!” Fumbling, I clicked the video link she’d sent. One look, and the ice was back, deeper this time. Damon and a woman were having sex in his Maybach—a brazen, public display that a tourist had captured and posted. The scandal was viral. I called him, my voice trembling. “The video—is it true?” His tone was lazy, laced with annoyance. “Oh, that? We got a little carried away. Didn’t want you to see it. It’s a mess to take down. If you can’t handle it, maybe you can call my team and deal with it?” Like a ghost, I used the last of my energy to drive to the address he’d given me. I remembered when he first hit it big, and the daughters of two rival syndicates had both tried to trap him into marriage. Everyone advised him to take a side, to consolidate his power. But Damon had stood up, in front of the entire assembly, and said: “My heart belongs only to Sasha. I will marry her, and only death will part us.” From that day on, the world knew Damon Thorne adored me. That’s why his betrayal now felt like such a delicious, high-stakes event to everyone else. I found Damon’s second property, a secluded villa, but ran into his consigliere first. The man’s eyes held a pity that stabbed me in the chest. I pushed open the door. The place was wrecked—bottles and clothes strewn everywhere. Damon had a woman—Tess—pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked up, saw me, and just patted her hip. “Put your clothes on, Tess. My wife is here. Be respectful.” She slowly, provocatively dressed, then purred for him to help her with her bra clasp. She turned to me, a smug smile plastered on her face. “Mrs. Thorne, I honestly didn’t think Damon would actually leave you to celebrate with me. I was so happy, I guess we just… played too hard.” She looped her arm through Damon’s, her voice dripping with triumphant sweetness. “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Thorne, I think we forgot protection earlier. But I’ll take the pill, so don’t worry your pretty little head.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, my stomach churning. I bent over, dry-heaving violently. Damon’s face tightened. He moved to grab me. “Sasha? What is it? Are you sick? Let me take you to the clinic.” I shoved him away. Tears and involuntary bile poured from my mouth. Damon’s face hardened. He hissed at the girl: “Get out!” Tess stamped her foot, but Damon leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, and murmured: “Go on, I’ll have my men bring your medication. I’ll find you again tonight, okay?” Satisfied, she tossed her silk stockings onto his pristine white sofa, gave me a triumphant sneer, and sauntered out. Damon casually swept the stockings onto the floor. He turned, his voice full of feigned concern, and patted my back. “Sasha, are you better?” “I know you can’t accept this right now. I get it. So, if you want out, I won’t stop you.” I wiped the mess from my lips and stared at him through my swollen eyes. “Damon, I’m not divorcing you.” I didn’t know what I was holding onto. Hate, rage, but mostly, a refusal to lose. I didn’t want a clean break. I was a gambler who had lost everything, but was desperately clinging to the possibility that some tiny shred of his heart was still mine. I cried. I raged. I even used a shard of glass against my own wrist. Damon finally backed down, promising to cut the girl off. He still cares. He still cares about me. If he still cared, maybe I could fix everything. But the retribution was swift. A week later, on my birthday, intimate photos of Damon and my best friend, Gwen, at a private club went viral. The double-barrel betrayal was a blunt knife, tearing me apart. I threw up a mouthful of blood. I used every connection I had, wrote a damning exposé, and bought every bot available to destroy their reputations. Damon obliterated me with a single sentence. He told the press I was having a mental health crisis and produced a neatly forged psych report. He paid Gwen a fortune to disappear. I became the city’s joke—the “manic, jealous” Mrs. Thorne—while he remained the untouchable magnate. Under the harsh lights of a society event, he took my hand, a tender, protective gesture, and murmured in my ear: “You used your life to threaten me last time. I didn’t appreciate it. Doing this to Gwen was a warning.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I gave in to you. I put my life on hold for a week. But a man in my position? Every single one of us has outside entertainment. You can’t stop me.” “I thought the two of you were close. I’m disappointed you made such a scene.” “Try this again, and you’ll regret it.” The very next day, he moved a new model into the villa. To show his devotion to her, and to terrorize me, he sold our first, sacred little apartment. The one where we split a loaf of bread, dreaming of escaping the city, and he promised he’d never let anyone hurt me. I knelt and begged him. Take everything else, just leave me the apartment. I lost. The apartment became a five-figure designer handbag for the model. Two months later, he traded her for a casino dealer. His lovers cycled in and out like a Vegas slot machine. I was spiraling, depending on pills just to stay functional. Until the day I came home early and found him with a new woman in our master bedroom—the marital bed. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I saw it. I lost it, attacking him and the woman until his security detail dragged me away. To soothe his new pet, Damon had me committed to a treatment facility. Five days of dehumanizing treatment left me a hollow puppet. The day I returned home, the bedroom door was locked. The sounds of their panting were muffled but unmistakable. “Sasha, wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute.” I didn’t cry or scream. I waited, from daytime into the late night. When Damon finally emerged, I had already opened my wrist with a box cutter. I woke up in a clinic. He was sitting bedside, his eyes bloodshot. He grabbed my hand, his voice hoarse with genuine fear. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I went too far this time.” “But how could you gamble with your life?” He let go, the fear giving way to a more familiar frustration. “If you really can’t bear this, we can get divorced. I’ll give you whatever you want.” Seven years. It was true, I hadn’t suffered as much as him. He had fought on the docks, passed out in cars, and collapsed right in front of me from exhaustion. Years ago, I’d worried he’d die of burnout because of me. I’d fought him, tried to run away. That was the first time I saw his eyes red with tears. “Sasha, please don’t leave me. If you go, I have nothing.” Now, I lay in this clinic bed, gently tracing his cheek. “Damon, do you still love me?” He squeezed my hand tight. “Of course, you idiot. How could I not?” During my hospital stay, he seemed to regress to his old self, staying by my side every day. We held hands, kissed, and shared the intimacy we had lost, as if the betrayals had never happened. But I knew it was only guilt. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for a new face to appear. This time, it was a girl named Piper. She wore a simple white sundress, and when she stood behind Damon, she called me “Sister” with a timid, frightened voice. I looked at her, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over me. But Damon didn’t let me linger. He completely shielded her, and for the first time, his eyes held a pure, unmistakable expression of defensive maintenance. “Piper is innocent. I pursued her.” He looked me dead in the eye, his voice low and firm. “If you have a problem, bring it to me. Don’t touch her.” In that moment, I understood. I was no longer the one he needed to fight for, the one he had to protect at all costs. He protected Piper ruthlessly. He kept her out of the public eye. He ditched high-stakes meetings just to be with her. Damon, who only drank black coffee, ate an entire box of macarons with her, ending up in the clinic with a sugar spike. Since he couldn’t give her his name, he transferred the ownership of two high-end clubs to her. On their hundred-day anniversary, he rented every LED screen in the Financial District and scrolled her name across the city skyline all night. I stood by the window, watching the blazing lights, a pain tearing through my chest. I remembered years ago, when we were in the warehouse, he’d found some discarded string lights. He always strung them up by my makeshift bed first. I treasured them, only turning them on for holidays or the night he came home. The weak light would cast a small, flickering warmth. He would hold me tight, his voice thick with emotion: “I’m sorry, Sasha. All I can give you is this trash light.” “I swear, one day, I’ll make sure you see the brightest, most expensive lights in the whole city.” We got rich. The wedding was over-the-top. But I never saw that light. I thought he forgot. He hadn’t. He had simply taken that promise and used it to illuminate another woman’s world. What finally broke me was the extravagant engagement party he threw for Piper. Every syndicate leader was there. He placed a ring on her finger and declared her the one, the only true love of his life. In that moment, Piper’s figure overlaid the ghost of the girl I used to be. I broke. I stormed the ballroom with a borrowed gun. “Damon! Why don’t you love me anymore? What is the difference between her and the girl I was?” His first instinct was to yank Piper behind him. Then he grabbed my arm and threw me off the balcony. I hit the ground hard. Blood bloomed across my white dress. I woke up in the clinic again. Damon was beside me, his black shirt stained with dark, drying blood. His face was a mask of self-loathing. The doctor told me the baby was gone. I couldn’t remember if this was the third or the fourth. The first few were due to poverty and exhaustion. The doctor had been gentle years ago when she told me it would be difficult to conceive again. Damon had held me, his eyes red. “It’s okay, Sasha. We don’t need children. I have you.” Now, this unexpected child had also left me in the most brutal way. Damon leaned over my bed, his shoulders shaking, weeping as he pleaded. “Sasha, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll protect you. I will never let you be hurt again.” But my soul had already bled out with that unformed life. He hadn’t gone back to Piper, but she found her own way to the clinic. She carried a fruit basket and cried pitifully when she heard about the miscarriage. “Sister, I didn’t want to say this now. I was afraid of upsetting you.” Her voice was soft, saccharine. “But… I’m pregnant.” That last, thinnest string in my heart snapped. I grabbed the medicine bottle next to me and hurled it across the room, screaming with all my might: “Get out!” Damon instantly stepped in front of Piper, taking the bottle’s impact on his shoulder. He turned to the nurses rushing in. “Give her a sedative! She can’t keep her own child, so she lashes out at Piper! I told you, if you’re angry, come for me!” The icy medicine went into my vein. The room spun, the edges blurred. But I distinctly felt the final collapse of the one thing that had kept me alive. I stared at the ceiling, tears flowing silently. Damon released Piper. He wore a pained expression and reached out to hug me, just like he always did. But right before his hand touched my shoulder, I spoke. “I agree.” He froze, confused. “What?” “I said, I agree to the divorce.”

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A ten-year-old girl vanished into the suburban night, the only thing left on her bed a single, bloody pair of underwear. Nine years later, as I was reading a bedtime story to my own daughter, I had a sudden, ice-cold realization: The “Tooth Fairy” the missing girl had talked about was no fairy tale at all. In that moment, I finally understood the blood-chilling motive hidden behind the innocence of a simple childhood story. My hand shook as I dialed the number for the lead detective from all those years ago. “Captain Stone,” I whispered, my voice ragged. “We were wrong. Dead wrong, for nine years.” 1 In 2016, I was working as a security guard at the gates of a high-end complex called Maplewood Estates. That winter, a ten-year-old girl named Sadie Jenkins vanished from her own bedroom. The scene was gruesome. Twisted sheets, spattered blood, and that single pair of bloody underwear balled up near the footboard. The police turned the entire complex upside down, but they didn’t find a single viable lead. Years passed. I got married, had a kid. My daughter was right in the middle of her wobbly-tooth phase. That night, my wife was tucking her in, telling her the story of the Tooth Fairy. When I heard those two words, I shot straight up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. My voice trembling, I asked my wife, “The Tooth Fairy you’re talking about—she takes the tooth and leaves a coin?” “Yeah, honey. That’s the story everybody tells.” I stayed awake until dawn. As soon as the sky began to lighten, I found the number I hadn’t had the guts to delete in nine years and sent a text to Captain David Stone, the detective in charge of the case: “The whole direction of the investigation. It was completely wrong.” 2 The popular American version of the Tooth Fairy—tucking a lost tooth under the pillow in exchange for money—had only really become widely known in our area over the last decade or so. It came from one of two places: Either the version passed down from parents and teachers who had traveled, or the one popularized around 2015 by imported children’s media. You would never think that the tiny, almost imperceptible difference between the two versions could send a living, breathing person straight to her death. 3 “Officer! Please! Help! My daughter is gone! Someone is trying to kill her!” Brenda Wells’s shriek is a sound that still rips me awake sometimes. It was November 24th, 2016. Sadie Jenkins went missing that morning. It was around 7:40 a.m. I was just finishing my shift handover with the night guy, Old Man Leo, and was settling down in the guard booth with my thermos and a bag of glazed donuts. The fog was thick outside. People were rushing off to work and school, a normal, manic weekday morning. Then the sirens. Loud, close, and stopping right at the main gate. I ran out and saw the squad cars pull up to Unit 8, Building B. Nothing spikes a security guard’s adrenaline faster. As I raised the gate arm and pointed them toward the unit, my gut clenched. Clang. I knew that unit. That’s where Sadie lived. I was usually hiding in the booth, working through a box of glazed donuts and grinding on some mobile battle game. This group of kids would barrel in after school, sniffing out the sugar, and wipe out my snack stash in three minutes flat. I knew those little brats well. Sadie was different from the others. She was a natural-born leader, quick-witted, and she always took charge. Every time she cleared me out of donuts, she’d stuff my pockets with cheap candy or a pack of stale gum from her own stash. That morning, when I heard Brenda’s tortured scream, my chopsticks clattered to the floor. Damn it. Something happened to that kid. 4 Sadie’s unit was on the first floor. When I got there, a crowd of rubbernecking neighbors was already gathered at the entrance. I saw it right away: a huge, jagged hole cut into the iron security bars on the bedroom window. It looked black and menacing. Everyone was whispering that it was Sadie’s room. Humans are easily swayed by the obvious. Terrifying theories exploded in the crowd: breaking and entering, sexual assault, a random abduction. Even though neighborhood security wasn’t as tight back in 2016 as it is now, no one could believe that someone would brazenly cut through iron bars in the middle of the night just to go after a ten-year-old girl. Captain Stone, the lead detective, had a face like granite. He was grilling Sadie’s mother, Brenda Wells. “Brenda Wells, is that right? You called 911 at 7:15?” “Yes! I got up to make breakfast around seven, passed Sadie’s room, and saw the bed was empty and the window was jimmied! I pulled back the sheets and… there was blood! And that pair of underwear… I flew into a panic. I searched the whole apartment, and then I called the police!” “You didn’t hear anything all night?” “Nothing! I’m a heavy sleeper! Slept right through till morning.” I didn’t see the father, so I interjected, “Where’s the girl’s dad?” Brenda scrubbed tears from her face. “Rick—he’s a construction worker. He was on an overnight shift. His phone’s off.” I remembered Sadie mentioning that her dad was in construction and was rarely home. The police went back inside to examine the room. I lingered by the door, trying to peer in. When Captain Stone emerged, his brow was furrowed so tight it looked like a knot. He took a long drag on his cigarette. I offered him a light. “Captain, what’s the read?” Stone blew out a plume of smoke and lowered his voice. “Rookie, I’ve worked B&E cases my whole career, and nine times out of ten, it’s about cash.” “This apartment is a two-bedroom. The girl’s window is small, tucked away—a spot a thief would choose. I started thinking, maybe the thief got in, ran into the kid, and got the wrong idea…” “But the scene is all wrong. The sheets are twisted, there’s blood splatter on the walls and bed, and that underwear—it looks like a passion crime.” “But think about it: the mother next door didn’t hear a thing? The neighbors heard nothing? The girl didn’t even scream for help?” “The biggest piece missing is the body. If it was a passion killing, why take the body? Why the effort? I have a terrible feeling about this one.” 5 A terrible feeling. Stone’s words sent a chill down my spine. Why Sadie? Why her? Stone bent down and pulled a few comic books from under the bed, dusting them off. Looking at those books, a memory flashed in my mind, from the first time I really met Sadie, two months earlier. “Security Uncle! Come outside now!” I was dozing that afternoon when I heard a clear voice shouting for me. I stepped out and saw a tall, fair-skinned little girl in a sundress, standing guard over a chubby little boy who was sitting on the ground sobbing. She pointed at two older boys across the way and said fiercely, “Sir, they stole his stuff and they hit him!” The two older boys weren’t scared; they shoved the girl. “Mind your own business!” My temper flared. I crossed the distance in one stride and pulled the two older boys apart. “You little punks. Try that again.” They were only tough when they outnumbered someone. Seeing I was serious, they yelled, “You’ll pay for that!” and ran off. “Yeah, I’ll be waiting in the booth! Don’t be a coward!” I shouted after them. The girl, Sadie, was all business. She knelt down, picked up the scattered comic books, handed them to the little boy, and wiped his tears. “Stop crying. If they bother you again, you use my name. I’ve got your back.” That was my first impression of Sadie Jenkins—righteous, kind, and she burned bright like a tiny sun. I ushered them into the guard booth and gave them some napkins. “Uncle, I knew you’d help!” “How did you know?” Sadie stared at the mobile game on my screen, her eyes shining. “I watch you play a lot. The other guards yell at the delivery guys, but you’re always polite and let them come inside for a drink. You’re a good man.” “Hey, we’re all just trying to make a living.” “Exactly! My teacher says we have to help each other! But I notice… adults like to bully kids, and big kids bully little kids. I hate that.” I was surprised. This girl, who seemed so loud and bold, was actually quite insightful. “You want to watch me play, just come on in. Don’t wait outside.” “Really? Thank you! Can I… play a round?” she asked, smiling cheekily. “…Finish your homework first.” “Yes! This is the best!” She slapped the little boy on the shoulder. “We have a place to hang out after school now!” The little boy, Matty, shyly handed me his books. “If you get bored, Sir, you can borrow these.” That was the first time my guard booth had ever been so full of life. “Wow, your moves are amazing, Uncle! I want to play that character next!” Those two kids were my little rays of sunshine. Before leaving, Sadie didn’t forget her own parting advice: “Uncle, it’s getting cold. Zip up your coat and don’t catch a cold.” How could such a wonderful child… 6 The evidence collection lasted over half an hour. Stone and his team searched the room repeatedly. I waited anxiously, but all Stone could do was shake his head and sigh. I was getting frustrated. “Captain, what is it?” Before Stone could answer, Sadie’s father, Rick Jenkins, arrived. The man was wearing a hard hat, his face covered in concrete dust and sweat. He burst through the door and went straight for Brenda, ignoring the police. “Where is our daughter? Huh?” Once he figured out what had happened, Rick shoved Brenda hard in the shoulder, his eyes bloodshot. “Someone jimmied the window, our daughter is hurt—maybe dead—and you were sleeping like a dead pig?!” His jaw was clenched tight, his fists cracking. If the police hadn’t been standing right there, I think he would have beaten Brenda on the spot. Seeing the volatile situation, Stone pulled me aside. “How long have you worked here?” “Two months.” “Know this family?” “I know the kid. The adults, not so much.” “I notice the complex doesn’t have security cameras outside the gate?” “Just the one at the main entrance, facing the street.” “Alright, I need a favor. We need to question the parents and talk to the neighbors. You know the area. Help us find our way around.” “No problem. Whatever it takes to find her.” “You asked me what was wrong with the scene. I’ll be straight with you.” Stone lit a cigarette, his eyes sharp. “This scene is all wrong. Ten-year-old kid, the room’s a wreck—she obviously fought back. The security bars were cut, blood everywhere… We can rule out runaway or self-abduction.” “So an outsider came in.” “Yes. But for all the apparent violence, something is missing. No screams, no sounds of a major struggle. If the kid was knocked out or killed right away, the room wouldn’t be this messy, and the blood volume is wrong.” “Since she wasn’t killed here, she was taken. How do you move a struggling human being out of a house in the dead of night without alerting anyone? How do you even clean up some of the mess?” “This tells me one thing: the killer had a way to keep her quiet.” “It might even be… someone she knew.” Stone paused, exhaling the words slowly. “I have two theories. First, a familiar person. Second, the parents are hiding something.” 7 The time snaps forward to 2025. This case was a thorn in my side for nine long years. After I heard the full, real version of the “Tooth Fairy” story that night, I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes on my balcony. The truth had been right in front of us the entire time, just missing that final puzzle piece. Could that final piece bring back a girl who’d been gone for almost a decade? At six in the morning, I scrolled through my contacts and finally hit the number: Captain Stone. 8 Back in 2016. We quickly found that this family was hiding something strange. Sadie Jenkins, ten years old, attended Harborview Elementary, six miles from home. The father, Rick Jenkins, forty-two, a dependable blue-collar worker constantly rotating between construction sites. The mother, Brenda Wells, thirty-four, ran a small food stand in the evening market, leaving in the afternoon and closing up around ten. A typical blue-collar, double-shift household, working nonstop. I was puzzled. Simple folks, no money, no social influence—why would anyone target their kid? The neighbors described Rick as a straight shooter, a little hot-tempered, loud at home, but honest. Brenda and Sadie, however, had impeccable reputations. Everyone said Brenda was sweet, a hard worker who managed everything. Sadie was a big-hearted kid who helped Brenda at the stand and was always cheerful. But behind that facade, we started hearing murmurs. Several neighbors whispered privately that Brenda Wells wasn’t Sadie’s birth mother. 9 “Is the sister who was afraid of being lonely… really not coming back?” The next day after Sadie’s disappearance. I’d spent all of yesterday running myself ragged with Captain Stone. My throat was raw, but we were no closer to an answer. The precinct took the case seriously, sending in more personnel today. I was holed up in the guard booth, feeling sick. I’d only known those kids for two months, but they were the only light in my boring life. I remembered what Sadie had told me. She said the first thing she did after school was find her group. If someone wasn’t there, she’d shout until they came out. “No one gets left behind! People who don’t have friends are the most pathetic people, Uncle. You too!” That’s how seriously she used to lecture me. It was Saturday. Usually, the entrance to the complex would be a zoo. I looked out the window, and for a moment, I thought I saw the group of kids laughing. But when I focused, I saw only Matty, the chubby little boy Sadie had protected, sitting alone on a bench. I walked over. Matty looked up, his eyes swollen like peaches. “Uncle, Sadie’s gone. No one wants to come out. Will she really never be found?” “Don’t talk like that. The police are looking, she’ll be back soon.” “She won’t.” Matty shook his head, a certainty in his voice that chilled me. “Why do you say that?” “Sadie told us. She was most afraid of being alone. If she didn’t come out to find us, it means she wasn’t in this world anymore.” “…” It was a child’s silly talk, but it twisted my heart. Did she already know, deep down, that her ordinary life could be cut short at any moment?

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I was the most emasculated husband in the Command Quarters. My wife, Veronica Shaw—a high-ranking Colonel on the General’s Staff—came with an entourage: her sister’s widower, Mitch Thompson, and his daughter. I was the supporting character in my own life. The scene was always the same: Mitch would stumble out of our bright, spacious master bedroom, flustered, with obvious red marks on his neck. Veronica would start to explain, to stammer out an apology, but I would always cut her off, throwing her a lifeline, and severing my own in the process. “I know you had one of your episodes again, V,” I’d say, my voice steady, even reassuring. “You mistook Mitch for me. It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Then came the field trip. A school outing to the mountains. A sudden mudslide. Veronica only had time to grab her niece, Kinsley, and rush away, leaving our own daughter, Juliette, behind. Juliette, or Jules, was later rescued by one of the junior medics, covered in blood, burning up with a fever. Even then, barely conscious, she shook her head and whispered the lines she’d learned from her father. “It’s fine. I know Mom just had one of her episodes. She mistook my cousin for me.” Everyone praised me for being such an understanding man—a rock for a powerful woman—and my daughter for being so mature. But deep down, Veronica was fracturing. She would sometimes rage at us, pleading for us to be the family we used to be. She was losing the war against her own lies. 1 I burst into the hospital room. All I could see was Jules’s little face, bright red from the fever, her tiny body seemingly swallowed by the white hospital bed. “Daddy’s late,” I choked out. I reached a trembling hand toward her cheek, but my tears splattered onto the crisp sheet first. Jules’s eyes fluttered open. She forced a weak, brave smile, her voice muffled and hoarse. “Don’t cry, Daddy. Jules is fine. It’s just a fever. It’s better than the last time…” I clapped my hand over her mouth instantly, shaking my head violently. “Shh, Jules, sweetheart, it’s over. It’s all in the past. This time, I won’t let anything happen to you.” A chill ran through me, a profound, bone-deep coldness that defied the scorching peak of summer outside. It felt like the icy grip of the last life, the agonizing final moments when the pain had swept through my frozen limbs. In that previous life, Veronica’s anxiety and guilt over losing her sister, Lydia, combined with the stress of her promotion, had sent her spiraling. She constantly mixed up Mitch and his daughter with Jules and me. I swallowed the sharp, internal pain, telling myself we were family. I tolerated it all—until her delusion cost our daughter everything. She made the mistake again, giving the one available dose of the life-saving specialized medication to her niece, Kinsley. Jules died. Broken and desperate, I went after Mitch and Kinsley. Mitch just laughed, a cruel, open-mouthed sound. “Stress? Anxiety? You actually bought that pathetic excuse? Veronica is tougher than anyone! It was just a necessary sacrifice to protect her reputation! Now go die quietly, Calvin. I’ll take care of Veronica.” They stripped me of my clothes and threw me out of the house in the dead of winter. I froze to death on the street. I was not letting that tragedy replay. In the past, Jules was trapped in the mudslide, overjoyed when she saw Veronica arrive. She ran toward her mother, only to be bypassed. Veronica went straight to Kinsley, swept her up, and left without a backward glance. It wasn’t until a full day later that Veronica finally remembered Jules hadn’t come home. Finding her in the hospital, still alive, she hadn’t offered comfort, only harsh questions: Why didn’t you shout? Did you expect to risk your life just to get my attention? I’d fought with her then. She’d stormed out, taking Kinsley with her to the Command Quarters’ barracks, refusing to see Jules. It was then, using the flimsy excuse of being “unfamiliar” with Jules due to her “episode,” that she diverted the life-saving medication. This time, I’d planned to keep Jules home. But while I was out talking to the doctor about her initial fever, Veronica had gone behind my back and forcefully sent Jules on the trip. A high-ranking official’s daughter, she’d declared, must be a role model for collectivism. The next time I saw Jules, she was on a stretcher. Staring at the grim diagnosis on the chart, I made a decision. I told the nurse to watch Jules closely, then borrowed the doctor’s desk phone and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in years. The reply I got made me exhale a shuddering sigh of relief. But securing the specialized medication through my connection would take time. I couldn’t risk it. If Jules’s condition worsened suddenly, Veronica’s readily available supply was still the best, fastest option. Reborn, I no longer craved Veronica’s love. I would be silent, compliant, allowing her and Mitch to continue their disgusting charade of “stress” and “mental fatigue.” I simply needed her to perform the most basic duty of a mother—to care for her child when it mattered most—for the sake of our history, and for Jules. I needed her to get the drug without another mistake. The following afternoon, Veronica arrived, Mitch and Kinsley trailing behind her. The security guard was hauling massive bags of shopping. Mitch’s new Omega Seamaster—a watch that screamed status and expense—flashed an arrogant gleam on his wrist, twisting a fresh knife in my gut. I knew how many favors and how much of our savings Veronica had burned for him. Veronica cleared her throat, a nervous, unnatural sound. “The rain was so heavy yesterday, Calvin. I was highly reactive, I’ll admit it. I… I mixed up Kinsley and Jules. That’s why I left her in the cave.” “Kinsley was also traumatized, so I took her to the mall—to the city’s designer shops—to soothe her nerves. As soon as she felt better, we rushed here to see Jules…” She paused, catching my flat stare, and added, awkwardly, “Calvin, you know how close Lydia and I were. Losing her has been incredibly hard on my mental state…” “She abandoned Mitch and Kinsley when she ran off and then died of cancer. They’ve had nothing. You…” Once, Veronica loathed Mitch, convinced he’d stolen her sister and led her to an early grave. After Lydia died, Veronica had spiraled into a deep depression. To give her an anchor, and because I genuinely felt for Kinsley, I’d persuaded Veronica to let them move in. I never imagined that “moving in” would extend to her bed. I looked at Mitch, resplendent in his crisp, silk-blend shirt. I said nothing. Mitch, sensing the advantage, smirked, patting Kinsley’s head. “Oh, right, Kinsley, sharing is caring. We shopped all day and picked up something for Jules. Hand over that dress…” “It’s a designer silk-georgette! It was so hard to find…” But Kinsley clutched the bag tightly, and a few dramatic tears welled up. “No! You said every dress here was mine! If she wants one, she can go pick out her own!” Mitch feigned sternness, lightly scolding Kinsley, then forced a chuckle. “Apologies, Calvin. The child’s been spoiled.” The subtext was clear: We are the real unit here. I instinctively looked at Jules. In the last life, this was the moment she’d compete, trying to win Veronica’s attention. Now, even through the haze of her fever, she managed a painful, distorted smile. “It’s okay. She can keep it if she likes it.” My eyes stung. My seven-year-old daughter was learning appeasement in front of her own mother. Veronica’s brow furrowed at Jules’s sad resignation. A flash of guilt crossed her face, and she reached out to embrace Jules. Jules subtly turned away. “Please don’t come too close, Mom. I have a fever. I don’t want to give it to you.” The utter emotional distance in Jules’s eyes made Veronica stumble backward. Unable to rage at the frail child, she turned the heat on me. “What kind of father are you, Calvin?! Letting her get this sick! And then letting her use her illness to spite us!?” I sighed, not engaging the accusation. I simply handed her the medical chart. 2 “Advanced Lymphoma. She needs the specialized medication immediately. Without it, she will die. She’ll be admitted to the hospital. Room 30.” I deliberately stressed the room number. No matter how bad her “episodes” were, she could only confuse people, not suffer hearing damage. This time, she would not make the mistake. Veronica’s hands shook as she read the file. She took several deep, shuddering breaths to compose herself. “Okay, Calvin. Don’t worry. I’ll make the call. I’ll make sure the medication is routed to our daughter.” I felt a small release of tension. At least she still cared. To try and appease Jules, Veronica promised she could re-enroll in the Conservatory Prep School for singing, which she loved. Veronica had pulled her out of that school only because Kinsley also liked to sing, and she didn’t want the girls competing. Mitch’s face went white. He viciously pinched Kinsley’s arm. Kinsley instantly fell to the floor, gasping and wailing. “I… I don’t want her to take my spot!” Mitch pretended to scold her sternly. “Kinsley Thompson! Be sensible! Can’t you let your cousin have this one thing?!” Normally, Veronica caved instantly to Mitch and Kinsley’s demands. Today, she held her ground, her expression chilling. I intervened with a smile. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. If Kinsley doesn’t like it, we’ll drop it.” Before Mitch and Kinsley arrived, Jules had been the apple of Veronica’s eye, the pearl of the Command Quarters. If Jules wanted the moon, Veronica would try to reach it. We were the envy of the base. Veronica always carried a photo of the three of us in her briefcase and spoke of us constantly. Then, Jules’s needs became secondary. Kinsley got the first pick of everything. Veronica claimed Kinsley was motherless and that she had to fulfill that duty, telling Jules she needed to be the “bigger person.” She forgot Jules was only seven. Veronica’s face darkened, a flicker of genuine anger igniting in her eyes. “I am Jules’s mother! And my daughter is sick! What is wrong with her wanting to sing? Do I need your permission, Mitch?” Mitch’s feigned smile froze. He picked up Kinsley awkwardly, moving toward the door. “I understand. Lydia’s elopement disgraced the family. We’re outsiders. We’ll just leave, so we’re not in anyone’s way.” Since Veronica’s feelings for him began, she was constantly trying to measure up to her dead sister, Lydia. Hearing her sister’s name, Veronica immediately snapped, her voice laced with panic. “Don’t be ridiculous! Where are you going in the middle of the night?!” She looked at me, struggling for words, finally spitting them out. “Calvin, let’s put the singing on hold. Jules isn’t in a rush. I need to take them back first, then I’ll return. We can talk about the hospital admission details tonight.” I nodded, watching them go with a blank smile. I knew she wouldn’t come back. That manipulation was second nature to her. In the last life, my hope for her love made Mitch’s digs excruciating. This time, I’d already extinguished all the soft, tender parts of my heart. The next morning, Veronica arrived, dark circles ringing her eyes, with Mitch in tow. Mitch made sure to expose the hickey on his neck, his tone laced with a possessive, smug complaint. “Veronica, you really need to get your stress under control… You were clinging all night… But she’s so dedicated to you, Calvin. She barely slept but rushed straight here. I’ll need to get her some supplements…” He didn’t finish the sentence, a flush of artificial modesty rising on his cheeks. Veronica flinched, shooting him a glare, then turning to me to start her explanation. I kept peeling the orange for Jules, my hands steady. “Since you’re here, talk to the hospital. Jules’s injuries will heal, but the lymphoma is the priority.” She acknowledged this with a simple “Mhm.” She was all business, handling the logistics with her usual ruthless efficiency. I glanced at her. She was wearing her pressed uniform, but embroidered, almost inappropriately, on the cuff, were a few tiny, delicate flowers. I froze. I remembered finding a stain on her uniform once, offering to clean it. She’d flared up in a rare fury, snatching it from me. “This is sacred. Don’t you dare touch it!” Her past declaration now sounded like a clown’s pathetic act. Veronica followed my gaze, her body tensing, ready to explain. I cut her off, bringing up Jules’s condition instead. Suddenly, Mitch slapped his forehead. “Shoot! Veronica, I just remembered! Kinsley was throwing a fit when we left. Since you didn’t take her to school, I bet she’s sulking at home. But she’s the lead in the big performance today!” Veronica’s face hardened. Mitch played the distressed parent. “You know how much Kinsley practices. If she misses this performance, she’ll be heartbroken. She’ll cry for weeks.” I exchanged a glance with Jules. Even pale and weak, she offered Veronica a soft, gentle smile. “It’s okay, Mom. Go with Kinsley. She can’t miss her performance.” Veronica mumbled, “She’s seven years old. She needs to learn some discipline!” But she was already halfway out the door. I knew it was coming, yet the pain was still a fresh, deep wound. I wiped a silent tear and turned to Jules, telling her a silly joke, trying to distract her from the inevitable disappointment. A moment later, my early-generation cell phone—the clunky “brick” model—rang. It was Veronica. My heart lifted briefly. Had she secured the medication? Her apologetic tone froze me. “Calvin. The medication is on hold. We’ll have to wait. Also, I have a necessary business trip to Seattle. There’s a plus-one slot for family, and Mitch and Kinsley have never been.” “I promised Kinsley I’d take her if the performance went well.” 3 My heart dropped, crashing into a dark, empty pit. The same excuse. They’ve never been. Was I, Calvin Rhodes, somehow indebted to them? Veronica tried to compensate. “Don’t worry. The next batch will be secured. I promise. We’ll bring you back a gift from Seattle. Didn’t you always want an Omega Seamaster? I’ll look for one for you…” For the first time since my rebirth, I let the fire out. “You’re lying! You have the drug right now! You’d rather see our daughter suffer than disappoint Mitch!” My memory of the past life confirmed it: the specialized drug was available. Veronica was choosing Kinsley’s vacation over Jules’s survival. I thought of the time she was nearly crippled by shrapnel, and I had pulled every string to get her the best care, massaging and rehabilitating her until she walked again. When she was pregnant with Jules and overwhelmed by her career, I put my own academic future on hold, taking an unpaid leave to be a full-time father. She’d wept then, promising me everything. “Calvin, marrying you was the luckiest thing I ever did. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” She’d forgotten that promise. All I wanted was our daughter’s health. My words pierced her carefully constructed facade. Veronica, enraged at being called out, snapped. “Enough! I’m the one managing the logistics! Do you think you know more than I do? I am Jules’s mother, why would I hurt her?!” “Besides, there are top specialists in Seattle who might be able to help with my episodes. You hate me mistaking Mitch for you. If I get better, it stops! This helps us all!” She didn’t give me a chance to argue, hanging up with a definitive click. My knuckles were white. After all my silent sacrifice, she didn’t have an ounce of pity left. The Command Quarters hospital was small. The gossip quickly found its way to me. “Can you believe Calvin? The Chief of Staff is touring Seattle with Mitch and his girl, looking like a family of three!” “Mitch is constantly flaunting those hickeys. No shame.” “Specialized drugs? Only she has the clout to get them. She’s stalling for some pathetic reason.” Jules, catching the whispers, was scared I was upset. She threw her little body into my arms, comforting me. “It’s okay, Daddy. I can wait… We only have six months left to wait. I made it through the last time, I can make it through this one…” Later, while cleaning out the study, I found a faded, yellowed journal hidden in a drawer. On a morbid impulse, I opened it. The truth hit me, fact after fact, like a cluster of depth charges shattering my inner world. Mitch and Veronica had been involved for years. And Kinsley? Kinsley was their daughter. My hands clenched the pages. No wonder the brutal favoritism! But Jules was also her daughter! How could her heart be so ruthlessly biased? Her so-called grief over her sister’s death wasn’t grief at all. It was a calculated performance, a strategy to make me pity her and agree to take Mitch and Kinsley in. My genuine affection was a tool in her campaign. I rushed out, borrowed a camera, and, with shaking hands, photographed every single page of that journal. I looked at Jules, fragile, tormented by the disease, a gust of wind away from breaking. I was done being the silent victim. I developed the photos and walked straight into Veronica’s superior officer’s office. I presented the evidence and filed for divorce. Faced with the undeniable facts, the General’s superior grew serious. “Poor personal conduct. I never thought Veronica had grown so arrogant. Mr. Rhodes, the issues you’ve raised are severe. I approve the divorce immediately. The process will just take a little time.” The immense stone that had been lodged in my chest finally rolled away. Veronica was gone for two weeks. I stopped checking in, stopped calling. She returned to the hospital looking exhausted, immediately rushing to my side, her voice filled with feigned hurt. “Calvin. Why didn’t you check on me? Everyone else’s spouse called. Look, I got the Omega Seamaster you wanted. Try it on.” She paused, a thread of suspicion entering her tone. “I’m just watching out for Lydia’s family, that’s all. I also made a lot of breakthroughs on the research into my episodes in Seattle. Next time, I’ll take you. I swear I’ll fix myself.” “And I secured the specialized medication for Jules.” 4 I was indifferent to Veronica. The Omega Seamaster was meaningless. But the words “specialized medication” snapped my head up. “Good. Give it to her immediately.” This time, Jules’s disease had been more aggressive, more violent than the last. The antidote from my connection was still days away. Before Veronica could answer, Mitch appeared at the door, his face a mask of manufactured anxiety. He called her away. I saw the flash of poisonous resentment in Mitch’s eyes as he looked at me. I hurried to the nurse’s station to arrange the injection, but the doctor stammered. The medication, he said, had been given to Room 26. By Veronica’s request. “Room 26? I specifically told her Jules was in Room 30. Who did she mistake for Jules this time?!” The doctor avoided my gaze, forcing a calm professionalism as he checked the chart. “No mistake, sir. Room 26. The patient is Kinsley Thompson. She apparently developed a sudden illness while traveling in Seattle…” Jules lay on the bed, weak and fading. My heart clenched into a tight, hard fist. Was the previous life’s dark finale truly unavoidable? My rational mind burned away. I flung myself toward Room 26. Inside, the same doctor was present. Mitch had Veronica wrapped in his arms, sighing with practiced difficulty. “You know how sensitive Kinsley is. This illness is aggressive. If we don’t treat her immediately, she’ll lose her ability to sing. You know she’d rather die…” Veronica’s voice was ragged with tears. “But Jules… I can’t bear it. It’s both my hands, Mitch! I can’t choose. I’m so afraid Calvin will hate me.” I distinctly saw a flicker of triumph and malice in Mitch’s eyes as he glanced at the doctor. The doctor cleared his throat, sounding reassuring. “Colonel Shaw, your daughter’s condition is stable. A slight delay in the medication won’t hurt her. But Room 26 cannot wait.” My nails dug deeply into my palms. Just as I suspected. Mitch had already bought the doctor off. Mitch smiled, his usual polished veneer intact. “Exactly. If you don’t trust me, trust the doctor. Besides, Calvin hasn’t contacted you once in two weeks. That proves Jules is fine, right?” “And Calvin loves you too much. You can simply win him back later.” A wave of bitter nausea rose in my throat. Just as I was about to burst through the door, Veronica’s next words stopped me, a heavy lead binding my feet to the floor. “I owe Lydia, and I owe you both. This is my atonement.” “Since Jules can wait, Kinsley gets the first dose. I’ll just claim I had an episode, that I mixed up the two girls again…” My entire body shook with fury. Twice, in two lifetimes, with the exact same excuse, Veronica had willingly chosen to sacrifice Jules. In that critical moment, a hand slammed down on my shoulder.

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Everyone knew it was a sweet deal to be the side piece of Preston Thorne. I, his wife, was the reason. I didn’t just ensure his mistresses received a top-tier benefits package with platinum healthcare and generous trust funds; I even arranged for regular overseas retreats and exclusive medical checkups. People joked that catching Preston Thorne’s eye was like landing a C-suite position in the infidelity market. Naturally, he became the most coveted man among young, ambitious women in our circles. But this time, the girl he fixated on, a young woman named Summer, refused to be bought. She was fiercely devoted to her long-time, penniless boyfriend. The night before Preston planned to use his power to coerce her, I initiated intimacy with him, a desperate attempt to delay him, to buy her time to escape. The next morning, Summer was gone. Preston discovered my sabotage, and in a rage, he had me committed to a private psychiatric facility. He stood over me in that sterile room, his expression terrifyingly calm, as he issued his final warning. “Kin,” he said, using the nickname I loved, “just promise me you’ll stop interfering, and I can have you back home. You’ll resume your life as Mrs. Thorne, with every luxury and privilege that entails.” Finally, I gave a soft nod. I had just learned, before I was taken, that my brother, Jared, had lost everything in a bad investment. He was drowning in debt. Only with Preston’s sudden capital injection had he avoided bankruptcy and disgrace. For my brother, I had to stop fighting. I had to disappear. 1 The driver had just picked me up from the facility when a devastating pile-up occurred on the highway. The car flipped. The driver was instantly unconscious. I was severely injured. As the paramedics rushed to the scene, I surfaced briefly through the agonizing pain. Even in that state, my hand instinctively fumbled for my phone to call Preston. The line rang for a long time before it was answered. I swallowed the coppery blood pooling in my throat and managed to gasp, “Preston, I…” His voice, when it came, was laced with irritation. “Didn’t I send the car for you? I told you I’m busy. Kinsley, be sensible, okay?” The earpiece suddenly burst with chaotic noise. Then, a familiar voice cut through the static. It was Summer’s despairing scream: “Preston Thorne, do what you want with me, but why would you hurt him?” Preston’s reply was low and even, yet it sent a chill colder than any ice through me. “Summer, I warned you. If you dared to accept his proposal, I’d ensure he spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair.” So, the fragile, pure ideal he was so keen to protect was named Summer. I suddenly remembered why her voice was so familiar. It was the same frantic pitch I’d heard that first night I discovered his infidelity, the night I smashed every valuable object in our penthouse. Preston always managed to push people past their breaking point. Over the phone, Summer was weeping, begging him to leave her boyfriend alone. As I finally lost consciousness, her desperate pleas shifted. “Please, be gentle…” Her sobs of rage melted into fragmented, tiny gasps of pleasure. I woke up to find Preston sitting on a lounge chair nearby, casually scrolling on his phone. He noticed my gaze. He hesitated, then reached out a tentative hand, as if to check my temperature. I turned my head away. “I’m fine,” I rasped. Preston scoffed, his expression hardening, and he withdrew his hand instantly. “Kinsley, you’ve just come back, and you pull this stunt? Don’t you think it’s time to rein it in?” My brain seized up. A stunt? “I’ve told you countless times,” he continued, “no one will ever threaten your position. You are, and always will be, my only wife. What benefit is there in fighting with a girl fresh out of college, getting yourself into this state?” He thought the horrific accident was a pathetic attempt to compete with Summer. A move for attention. I opened my mouth, but the truth felt utterly meaningless, stripped of all weight. “I apologize. There won’t be a next time.” I didn’t argue. There was nothing left to say. Preston seemed satisfied by my capitulation. My brother had called that morning to tell me Preston had arranged the funds to pay off his next installment. See? I just had to be invisible, to know my place, and Preston would solve all our problems. “If you’re miserable, Kin, you should go. Get a divorce. I’ll figure out the money.” My arm ached from holding the phone. I knew the truth: the entire Thorne portfolio—cars, property, everything—had been seized and auctioned. The massive debt was still a gaping hole. Jared, who once lived in a two-thousand-square-foot river-view penthouse, had been beaten by debt collectors and was now in a damp, shadowy basement. It had taken three days for his life to collapse. I heard Preston had found him curled up on a tiny cot, pale, with blood on his lips. His blanket didn’t even cover his feet. A container of untouched microwave pasta sat on the floor. We were utterly defeated, completely cornered. Now, Preston offered the car, the house, the money. All he asked was for me to be blind, to be a ghost who enabled his beautiful romance with the ideal girl. Given our situation, how could I refuse? I managed a weak smile. “I’m not miserable. I’m just being blind. I can do that.” After my release from the hospital, I attempted to become the perfect, compliant wife. I stopped asking about Preston’s whereabouts or spending habits. When Preston needed a ride home, drunk after a business dinner, I gave the chauffeur Summer’s number. When he mentioned a craving for the seafood bisque I used to make, I routinely called Summer and asked her to deliver it. When he needed custom cufflinks matched to a new suit, I told Summer to contact his private tailor. … Three months into this routine, Preston did something unusual: he called to say he was coming home for dinner. 2 After the meal, as I mechanically laid out his suit for the next day, he grabbed me and forcefully pushed me against the wall. “Kin,” he murmured, his voice tight, “you’ve been so good lately. Too good. It’s not like you…” As his kisses trailed down my face, the unmistakable scent of Summer’s favorite gardenia perfume quickly saturated my senses. The room’s temperature spiked, making the cloying fragrance even more intense. A sharp, violent wave of nausea surged in my throat. I forced myself to endure it. But then, in the heat of the moment, Preston called out Summer’s name. My mind went blank. I clenched the pillow so hard my knuckles turned bone-white. Then, with a sudden, animalistic burst of strength, I shoved Preston away. I stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed by the toilet, dry-heaving. Preston followed me, his eyes narrowed. Seeing my desperate retching, the desire in his eyes vanished, replaced by irritation. He leaned against the doorframe. “What’s wrong with you?” I couldn’t answer, the sound of my continuous heaving echoing off the marble. He quickly lost patience. He merely threw a dismissive remark over his shoulder: “Go to the doctor tomorrow and get checked out.” The roar of his car engine faded as he drove away, taking my sleep with it. Curled up in the corner of the bed, I fought against the intense physical discomfort, but it was useless. I got up. While rummaging for an over-the-counter remedy, I found it in the back of the cabinet: a tacky, cheaply made pearl necklace whose metal settings had begun to fade. The cold metal suddenly burned in my palm, forcing me almost to drop it. I remembered the toughest year of Preston’s life. We were twenty-two. His father had cut off all his funds to force him to start from the bottom. The millionaire playboy, accustomed to spending six figures a month, was living on a two-thousand-dollar salary, wearing clothes from a strip mall, and sharing a cramped dorm. I’d felt sorry for him and secretly split my allowance with him. Under the moonlight, his voice had choked up. “Kinsley, I’m so lucky to have you.” To buy me a birthday gift, he worked himself to exhaustion, taking on extra shifts until he was dizzy. When he finally presented the pearl necklace, his face was flushed. “The quality is terrible compared to what you have in your closet, Kin. If you don’t like it, you can just tell me…” I didn’t refuse. I took off my latest designer necklace and wore the cheap pearls for a year. For a long time, that necklace had served as Preston’s symbolic ‘get out of jail free’ card. Snapping out of the memory, I walked to the balcony. I wound up and threw the necklace with all my might. It disappeared into the flowerbed below, vanishing without a trace. Two months later. I had an unexpected visitor. Summer. She was wearing the latest couture suit and a heavy, expensive watch. Even her diamond earrings were a pair Preston had spent a fortune on at a recent auction. I knew she had accepted his twisted, possessive love. And like so many women before her, she had come to tell me to leave my marriage. “He doesn’t love you anymore. There’s no point in clinging to this title,” she announced. “And I need that ‘Mrs. Thorne’ title to clear my name from being a home-wrecker.” But I needed that title too. I only had my brother left. I could concede anything else, but not this. Not the protection of the Thorne name. Seeing my lack of response, a flicker of genuine hatred crossed her eyes. She slammed her hand on the table and stood up. “Kinsley, why couldn’t you control Preston?” she shrieked. “Why did you let him ruin me and my boyfriend?” “My life is a mess because of your incompetence! You’re the reason I’m like this!” “If I can’t be happy, you and Preston—the two people responsible for this—won’t be happy either!” She lunged at me. Her full weight hit me, and my waist slammed into the metallic corner of the breakfast table. The agonizing pain stole my breath. I tried to push her away. But before I could exert any pressure, she suddenly collapsed onto the floor, sweeping the dishes and cutlery onto the tile with a crash. I turned back just as Summer cried out, clutching her abdomen. The fabric beneath her quickly turned a horrific crimson. Was she… pregnant? The housekeeper’s sharp scream filled the air, followed by Preston’s frantic shout from the foyer. The next second, a stinging, savage blow landed across my face. My lips immediately tasted of blood. “Kinsley!” Preston’s voice was a roar. “I thought you had learned your lesson these past months, but you’re still doing this? You’re still incorrigible!” An unspeakable bitterness, sharp and metallic, rushed up my throat. I choked out a weak defense. “I didn’t push her…” Preston didn’t even pause to hear me. He scooped Summer into his arms, his movements swift and protective, and rushed out the door. The man who could stay impassive during billion-dollar negotiations was now trembling slightly as he ran. A week later, Jared called. “Kin, could you just ask Preston why he suddenly unlinked the repayment account? If it’s too much trouble, forget it…” 3 I mumbled an acknowledgment, knowing my proud brother would only ask if he were truly desperate. When I called Preston, he answered immediately, as if waiting for my call. “What card? Oh… that one. I thought it was being fraudulently used, so I unlinked it. Is there a problem?” Preston’s tone was dismissive, yet his words landed like a heavy hammer blow to my heart. My hands nervously twisted the hem of my shirt. I forced myself to beg. “But my brother can’t wait, Pres. Can you… can you please be merciful to me just one more time, like you used to be?” Pres. It had been a long time since I’d used the intimate short form of his name. Silence fell on Preston’s end. A moment of rustling, and then Summer’s voice came through. “Kinsley, you know the company is under a lot of financial pressure right now? You and your brother are like a bottomless pit—no matter how much he gives you, it’s never enough. You’re going to drag him down.” Financial pressure… My mind flashed back to the morning headlines: “CEO Preston Thorne Spends Millions for Love! Ten-Million Dollar Villa and Luxury Cars Gifting Titles to Summer!” The financial pressure was caused by that, wasn’t it? An endless bitterness spread across my tongue, a searing, agonizing pain. “Preston put me in charge of this matter,” Summer continued. “If you can placate me, he’ll naturally help your brother with the money.” I agreed without hesitation. “I’ll text you the address. Come see me tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what to do.” I never imagined the address Summer sent would be my house. Standing outside, looking at the familiar stone façade, felt like gazing into a distant, lost life. The peach tree by the gate was blooming. The day Preston and I planted it, he’d asked me, “Do you know the language of the peach blossom?” I shook my head. He leaned in, gently biting my left ear, his hot breath making my head swim. “Kinsley, I want to be a prisoner of your love.” A spring breeze pulled me back to the present. I gave a self-mocking smile and entered the yard. Inside, through the sheer white curtains of the massive glass wall, the sunlight illuminated the furniture. I saw two bodies entwined on the chaise lounge—my mother’s favorite piece of furniture. Preston’s breathing was ragged. His voice was a mix of temptation and threat. “So we agree, you won’t take it too far.” Summer chuckled, playfully pushing his shoulder. “You gave me the house. Why are you suddenly so possessive?” He gave her the house? I lost control and stormed inside. “The house? Did you really give her the house?” Preston detached himself from Summer and slowly wrapped his silk robe around himself. “Yes. The paperwork is being finalized.” The moment those words left his mouth, a ringing filled my ears. I couldn’t hold my emotions in check any longer. I rushed him, beating my fists against his chest like a lunatic. “Why would you give it to her? You promised! You said as long as I behaved, you’d transfer the title back to me! Preston, why her? Why!” He grabbed my flailing hands and violently shoved me onto the sofa. Though the cushions were soft, the impact sent a sharp, dull ache through my abdomen. “She lost a child. This house is her compensation,” he said flatly. “If you had lost a child that day, I would have compensated you too.” “And Kinsley, don’t forget why you’re here.” In that instant, I forgot how to cry, how to scream, and even how to hate. When a sliver of rationality returned, Summer was dressed. “Kinsley, I haven’t quite decided how to punish you yet. How about… you get down on your knees and beg me?” Looking up at Summer’s arrogant, triumphant gaze, a wave of intense humiliation washed over me. But I knew I couldn’t refuse. Silence fell over the room. For a moment, I only heard a soft, muffled thud. It wasn’t my knees hitting the floor. It was my backbone, straight for twenty-six years, finally and completely shattering. Summer smiled. “I don’t have all day to wait. You know this house. You know where the security cameras are. If I check the feed and you’re not kneeling, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help your brother.” She looped her arm through Preston’s, and they walked out. The pain in my stomach intensified. I could barely straighten up. Every time I tried to shift or stand, the camera in the corner gave a little mechanical whir. The person watching seemed to be reminding me that if I ran, if I stood up, my brother would be ruined. As night fell, I suddenly felt a gush of warmth between my legs. In the faint moonlight, I saw my trousers were completely soaked in blood. Terrified, I called Jared. I cried that I was dying, that I was bleeding too much. My brother arrived, still in his restaurant uniform from his part-time job. He lifted me, his arms trembling, and ran to the waiting ambulance. “Kin, stay awake! Look at me!” “Kin! Don’t you dare close your eyes!” Just before the doors of the operating room closed, through the haze, I saw Preston. In all our years of marriage, it was the first time I had ever seen him so completely undone.

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The day after I closed on my condo, it vanished. I’d spent ten years surviving on budget meals and packed lunches, squeezing onto overcrowded public transit every morning, all to save up the sixty thousand dollars for the down payment. Finally, I’d secured a small corner unit, 1801, on the top floor of the Sycamores complex, right near my office. But when I got home from work, the entire building was seventeen stories high. The eighteenth floor was simply gone. My condo was gone. I was completely unmoored. I chased down the seller, Mrs. Fion, and my realtor, Mark Jensen. They both swore they had never met me. I went to the County Recorder’s office, then the police. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. They showed me the building plans: all units in the Sycamores topped out at seventeen floors. The eighteenth floor had never existed. But I knew what I had bought! I had walked the unit! I searched. I argued. I caused a scene. The diagnosis was immediate: “She thinks she bought a house in a dream. What’s next, a house that sprouts legs and runs away?” My escalating public meltdowns resulted in multiple involuntary trips to the psychiatric ward. Each time, I managed to escape and went right back to raising hell. I couldn’t stop. That down payment represented a decade of my life, a decade of self-denial. To control me, the hospital staff started with medication, then moved to electroshock therapy—all to make me forget the condo. The last time they caught me, I was being transported back to the ward. I spotted a brief opening when the guard looked away, flung myself out of the moving van, and hit the pavement. I woke up back in the realtor’s office, the day I signed the contract. 1 I pressed my heel into the wooden floorboards, looking around the familiar space with a sense of confused dread. This was Unit 1801. This was where we had signed the papers in my past life. And yet, who could have foreseen that the entire eighteenth floor would inexplicably disappear the very next day? Mark Jensen, my realtor, started to prompt me. “Jenna, if everything looks good, we should wrap this up. I’ve got a couple of other clients waiting to tour this afternoon.” I tried to sound casual. “Sorry, I just need to check the exterior details and the common areas one last time.” I rushed out to the hallway and saw the large, clear number 18 plastered on the wall. It was here. This was the eighteenth floor. I hit the elevator button. It arrived quickly. The digital display above the doors clearly read 18. Ding. The doors opened. I stepped inside, frantically searching. Last time, after the floor vanished, I had ridden this same elevator repeatedly, and the ‘18’ button had been completely missing. But there it was now, clearly labeled. I pressed 1. I had to figure out what was happening before I lost everything again. As the doors started to slide shut, Mark rushed up, yelling, “Jenna, are you buying this place or not? You know that three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit is non-refundable!” Three thousand, five hundred dollars! That was three months of rent and savings for me. I couldn’t just walk away. I had to find the glitch immediately. I made it to the first floor without incident. Then, I rode back up to 17. I got off at 17, found the emergency exit, and climbed the last flight of stairs to 18. Still nothing. The eighteenth floor was sitting right where it should be. Mark and Mrs. Charlotte Fion, the seller, were waiting for me by the elevator bank. Mrs. Fion smiled warmly when she saw me emerge from the fire escape. “A first-time buyer, you should absolutely check out the safety features and the amenities. But I promise you, dear, this building is top-notch.” I studied Mrs. Fion. She seemed kind. She’d even knocked ten thousand dollars off the price to make her moving deadline. She looked nothing like a fraudster. But when I went looking for her in my past life, she had looked me straight in the eye and said she’d never seen me. And she didn’t seem to be acting then, either. Mark Jensen was one of the firm’s top producers; he didn’t need my measly down payment. He also claimed not to know me after the disappearance. Could this be something supernatural? 2 “Jenna, if you back out, I return the fifty-six thousand five hundred, but the three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit is lost.” Mark’s voice broke through my daze. Maybe the whole thing was a nightmare. A house can’t just up and leave. Mrs. Fion was desperate to move abroad to be with her daughter for the birth of her grandchild, which was why I was getting the deal of the century. The unit, the location, the fixtures—it was all perfect. I couldn’t throw away three thousand five hundred dollars over a bad dream. I bit the bullet, pulling out my phone. “This is a huge milestone for me. Do you mind if we take a quick video, just a couple of seconds, for my social media? For the memory?” If the condo vanished again, I needed ironclad proof that Mrs. Fion and Mark had sold it to me. If they were con artists, they’d panic. Mrs. Fion readily agreed. “Oh, I love that! My daughter is the same way. A pretty young woman like you should absolutely document this!” She smiled at the camera. Mark, too, cooperated patiently, showing no signs of guilt. This made no sense. Still, a video was indisputable evidence. If the condo disappeared, I’d have no problem getting my money back. I signed the contract with a flourish. After seeing Mrs. Fion and Mark off, I spent the next hour filming every inch of the condo. I refused to let history repeat itself. Ring. It was my current landlord. “Hello, Leah? Are you renewing the lease for the next quarter?” “Could I possibly rent for just one more month?” In my past life, I’d immediately given notice. When the condo disappeared, I was left homeless. A month would give me time to ensure the new place was solid. Plus, I only had enough cash left over for one extra month’s rent. “Absolutely not! I have people lined up to view it right now. Take the next quarter or get out!” I sighed. “Okay, then I’m out.” “Then get back here and pack your bags now!” the landlord roared, slamming down the phone. I took one last, lingering look at my dream condo before heading back to my rental to collect my belongings. As I opened the door to leave, I bumped into my next-door neighbor arriving home. Last time, I’d signed the contract and rushed off, so this was technically my first time seeing him. He was an older gentleman, wearing sharp glasses—he looked like a retired professor. I offered a friendly greeting. He nodded politely and opened his door. For a split second, I saw a large Golden Retriever inside. I walked down the stairs, counting the floors again. Eighteen. Definitely eighteen. My life was so sparse, ten years of saving meant I could fit all my possessions into a single suitcase. I pulled it behind me, walking toward my new home, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. Please, please, please, I prayed. Don’t vanish this time. But as I reached the complex, I froze. Every building was visibly shorter. My eighteenth floor was gone. 3 I immediately called Mark. “What? You said the condo you just bought disappeared?” “Ma’am, you’ve got to be joking. This is reinforced concrete and steel, not a pop-up tent! A whole floor ran off? Are you sure you’re at the right complex?” How could I be at the wrong complex? I had walked these grounds hundreds of times in my previous life, desperately searching for the missing floor. I could find this place blindfolded! “Look, I’m with a client right now. I’ll call you back after five.” Mark hung up. I was frantic. I had to confront Mrs. Fion. I stationed myself outside the local grocery store, knowing it was her usual route home. Soon enough, she appeared, carrying a bag of fresh produce. “Mrs. Fion, do you remember me?” She paused, looking closely. Then, a puzzled look crossed her face. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Are you one of my daughter’s friends?” I felt the blood drain from my face. We had just signed papers this morning! I grabbed her arm. “Stop playing games! Give me back my sixty thousand dollars!” Mrs. Fion’s eyes widened in terror. “Help! Somebody, please! I’m being robbed!” People rushed over from all directions. “Did you see that girl? She’s got some nerve, trying to mug an elderly woman in broad daylight!” “Call the police! Get her arrested!” First the house, then the robbery accusation. I was consumed by a blinding rage. I pulled out my phone and played the video for the crowd. “Look! This morning, she and her realtor sold me Unit 1801! Now the condo is gone, and she says she doesn’t know me!” Mrs. Fion was still shaking her head and denying everything, swearing she didn’t know me, calling me a thief. The crowd was utterly confused. The woman in the video was clearly Mrs. Fion. “Nobody leaves! We’ll wait for the police and let them sort this out!” I insisted. “Yeah, wait for the police!” I had the video. I had the contract. Let them try and dismiss me this time. A patrol car arrived shortly. The crowd explained the bizarre situation to the officers. “A condo bought in the morning that vanishes by afternoon?” The officers were dumbfounded. I handed over my phone: the video, the pictures of the interior. One officer looked back and forth between Mrs. Fion and the video. “Ma’am, this woman certainly looks identical to you. And the unit in the video appears to be real.” Mrs. Fion shook her head wildly. “I was playing Mahjong with friends all morning! They can vouch for me!” Unable to resolve the chaos, the police brought us all back to the station: me, Mrs. Fion, and even Mark Jensen, who was forced to come in for questioning. Seeing Mark, I exploded. “He’s the realtor! He sold me the unit!” Mark stared at me with an expression of shock and bewilderment. “Wait, you’re the crazy lady who called and said her apartment vanished? Who are you? I’ve never seen you before! Get this lunatic away from me!” 4 Two officers had to physically restrain me. “Jenna, please calm down,” the officer said. “You claim you bought a condo from them. Do you have proof?” I nodded, pulling the sales contract and the realtor’s agreement from my suitcase. I jabbed my finger at the unit number. “Here! Unit 1801! We signed this contract right there!” The officer slammed the contract down in front of Mark. “It’s a valid contract with your firm’s seal. Now tell me you don’t know her!” Mark scrutinized the papers. “The contract is legitimate, and that’s our company seal. But I absolutely did not sign this. I had several client meetings this morning, and they can confirm my schedule.” Mrs. Fion added, “The handwriting looks like mine, but I haven’t owned a condo at the Sycamores in years! My Mahjong group can swear I was nowhere near a contract signing today.” The officers who went out to investigate soon returned with their findings. “They’re not lying. Both have multiple alibis.” I felt the panic rise. “How? Then what about my condo? That’s sixty thousand dollars!” The police took my phone, saying they needed to verify the video’s source and reliability. Mark spoke up immediately. “Don’t just look at us! Look at her! What if her video is deepfaked or AI-generated? She’s clearly unstable—a condo running away? Please, Officer, she needs a psychiatric evaluation. The Sycamores only has seventeen floors. I’m telling you, she’s mentally ill!” Just then, the officer who visited the complex returned. “Jenna, we visited the Sycamores. The tallest building is seventeen stories. We pulled the original blueprints—they only show seventeen stories.” I shot up from my seat. “Impossible! I was in 1801 this morning! I climbed the stairs from the seventeenth floor! It was there!” The officer who had been sympathetic suddenly regarded me as a threat. He yelled, “Jenna! Get back in your seat! Calm down!” “We interviewed the residents! Everyone confirms the buildings only have seventeen stories. There is no eighteenth floor! We’ve called for a specialist from the psychiatric center. They’ll be here shortly to assess you.” Tears streamed down my face. My house was gone, and I was going to be locked up again. Had the universe doomed me to the same fate? “That sixty thousand dollars was ten years of my life! Ten years of eating canned soup and scraping by! I finally bought my home, and now I’m homeless again! How am I supposed to be calm?” At that moment, a tech specialist emerged with my phone. “The video and photos are authentic. They were shot on this device today at 10:20 AM. Zero evidence of editing or deepfaking.” I turned to the others. “See? I’m telling the truth! The condo exists, they sold it to me, and we signed the papers in 1801!” Mark frowned. “But the complex doesn’t have an eighteenth floor, and we don’t know you!” I shook my head, utterly confused. Just then, I saw the kind old man from this morning—my neighbor. Mr. Walter Stone was being escorted into the station. I felt a surge of hope. “Look! He was my neighbor! He lived right next door on the eighteenth floor! He’s here because his condo vanished too!” Mrs. Fion’s face lit up. “Oh, I know Walter! He was my daughter’s middle school teacher. Bring him over!” The officer addressed Mr. Stone. “Sir, do you live in Unit 1802 at the Sycamores?” Mr. Stone shook his head. “I do not.” I felt my heart plummet. “No! You’re right next door! I saw you just this morning!” Mr. Stone looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Mrs. Fion, however, is my neighbor.” Mrs. Fion smiled knowingly. “That’s right. Walter and I have been neighbors for decades.” I refused to give up. We had seen each other! “Please, look at me! Mrs. Fion sold her condo to me this morning! I saw you when I left, and we exchanged greetings! Have you forgotten?” Mr. Stone looked genuinely terrified. “I have never seen you before in my life.” My peripheral vision caught the sight of a group of people in white coats walking towards me. The pure, visceral terror of electroshock therapy from my past life washed over me. I dropped to my knees. “Please, then why are you here? If you’re not looking for your condo, what are you doing at the police station?” “My dog is missing. I’m filing a missing pet report.” Despair set in. Why didn’t they know me? Why did the eighteenth floor disappear? Why was my home gone? Wait. The dog! I suddenly understood everything.

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